
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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Shelf.. 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 































T A 




9 




MARGIE’S MISTAKE 


AND 


OTHER STORIES 


! 

BY MRS. MARY F. STRONG 


“ Be true to the dreams of thy youth and they shall 
yet be fulfilled.” 



CHICAGO: 

W. B. CONKEY COMPANY, 

PRINTERS, 

1891. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1891, by 
Mrs. Mary F. Strong, 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. 


MY DEAREST FRIEND, 

MRS. FRANCES E. RUSS, 

OF OAKLAND, CAL., 

THIS VOLUME, 

IN COMMEMORATION OF THE 
LONG YEARS OF UNCLOUDED FRIENDSHIP, 
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. 


INTRODUCTION 


The writer of these introductory lines knows 
that the articles contained in this little volume 
were not, at the time they were written, intended 
for publication in this form. Admiration and 
appreciation of them, however, and a desire to 
see them again “in print,” has caused the author 
to thus publish them for private distribution as 
souvenirs among her friends. 

She makes no artistic pretensions as a writer, 
and yet they have been considered “gems of 
thought” and “jewels of utterance” by those who 
have read or heard them. Such as these are all 
too few in the domain of thought or literature 
and those to whom they will be distributed will 
appreciate the pity, that a mind that burns so 
brightly has been prevented from giving more of 
its light to the world. They, and any who read 
this volume, may know that the impressions 
from plates of steel no more truthfully represent 
the delicate, though iuefPaceable, tracings of the 


engraver, than do the poems in this volume 
delineate a few of the thoughts, feelings and 
emotions of the author. 

The little love stories herein told may touch 
a chord of semblance, or perhaps find their 
counterpart in the lives of some of the multi- 
tude “ who dream, and wish, and strive, and 
(sometimes) err.” 

The descriptive articles will, to some, recall 
“the days of auld lang syne,” which the writer 
thereof hopes will ne’er be forgot. And, finally, 
if the publication and presentation of this keep- 
sake shall increase the sum of human happiness 
be it ever so little, or awaken for her in the minds 
of the recipients one kindlier thought or friend- 
lier feeling, then will the author be content. 

J. M. S. 

Chicago, Nov. 14 , 1891 . 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 


Margie’s Mistake - - - - 9 

The Doctor’s Second Love - . . 135 

Frank Leyton’s Bride - - - 165 

Our Visitors ----- 181 

Washington Letters - - - 199 

Hot Springs Letters - - - - 223 

Short Pieces of Prose - . - 235 

Poems ------ 257 

Geneva to Rome - - - 267 


MARGIE’S MISTAKE. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE LOST CHILD. 

The beautiful and once happy home of 
Mr. Charles Lagrange had, at the beginning 
of our story, been suddenly converted into a 
house of mourning, and the richly-furnished 
apartments that so recently resounded with 
laughter and song were now transformed 
into a sepulchre for the living. 

In this luxuriant home, surrounded by all 
the beauty and elegance that art could 
devise or wealth bestow, sat a pale-faced 
woman, whose tearful eyes and vacant stare 
foretold a grief that had well-nigh dethroned 
her reason. 

Three years previous she had been led to 
the altar by the millionaire banker, Charles 
Lagrange, whose reputed wealth and high 


9 


10 


Margie's mistake. 


social position had established for him a 
widespread reputation and made him the 
cynosure for the envious eyes of a score of 
ambitious mammas with eligible daughters. 
The crowning glory of this union was the 
advent of a blue-eyed, flaxen haired, girl baby, 
the first anniversary of whose birth had just 
been celebrated with grand eclat. 

The young mother, who had formerly 
reigned as society queen, found the old life 
of folly and fashion truly irksome after 
having tasted the sweeter joys of mother- 
hood, and it was with unfeigned pleasure 
that she assumed the responsibilities of her 
new relationship in that purer and holier 
atmosphere which shed its incense like a 
saintly benediction over this peaceful and 
happy home. 

The numerous duties which fall to the 
common lot of wife and mother were faith- 
fully discharged, while ample time was 
found for those kindly deeds of charity, 
the multiplicity of which can hardly be 
realized, save by the few willing workers 


THE LOST CHILD. 


11 


who seek to relieve the cries pf distress that 
fall upon their listening ears. In all the 
varied duties which filled the life of this 
young mother, nothing was paramount to 
the absorbing interest she felt in her babe. 
Youth, wealth and social position, with this 
delicate little bud that gave promise of blos- 
soming into the fairest of flowers — what 
more could earth have in store for her? But, 
alas! while the morning of life betokens a 
clear and perfect day, the sunshine of our 
happiness is too often obscured by the dark 
clouds of disappointment ere it reaches the 
meridian! 

Who can analyze the emotions of this 
grief-stricken household, as husband and 
wife sit gazing into each other’s eyes, seek- 
ing in vain for one trace of hope to give 
solace in this dark hour of affliction? The 
wife had been scanning the columns of a 
daily paper which has fallen from her 
nerveless grasp. Raising her tear-stained 
eyes to those of her husband with a wistful 
and reverential look, she exclaims: Still no 


12 


Margie’s mistake. 


hope, no light, ^ave to treasure up in memory 
those transitory joys with which our past has 
been so replete.” 

The husband tenderly folds her in his 
protecting arms, and with a breaking heart 
endeavors to soothe and comfort her as she 
falls sobbing upon his breast. “My dear 
wife, we can at least unite our humble peti- 
tions to Him who watches the sparrow’s fall, 
that this cup of bitterness may soon pass 
away.” 

Four long weeks, and still no tidings of 
the kidnapped child! Private detectives 
and police officials had about exhausted all 
the shrewdness known to the profession in 
their research for the missing child, but 
thus far all efforts were in vain. Large re- 
wards had been offered for the apprehension 
of the abductors. Still no gleam of hope 
had as yet lightened the suspense of the be- 
reaved parents. A strange-appearing young 
woman had been seen in the neighborhood 
carrying in her arms a babe purporting to 
be about the age of the little missing one. 


THE LOST CHILD 


13 


but beyond this no ray of light was cast 
upon the mysterious disappearance of Baby 
Lagrange. 

At first the parents indulged the hope that 
but little difticulty would be encountered in 
regaining the child, believing it had been 
stolen for the express purpose of obtaining a 
ransom, thus quieting their fears in the vain 
hope of speedy recovery. Would that they 
might never know the bitterness of disap- 
pointment! But, while no means were left 
untried, a whole month had passed, and still 
the affair was enshrouded in mystery. And 
so the days grew into weeks and the weeks 
into months, until hope had given place to 
despair, and yet the fruitless search was 
kept up. 

Kind friends clustered about the grief- 
stricken parents and freely offered such poor 
consolation as lay in their power, but alas! 
such bereavements are too deep for human 
sympathy! And so it came to pass, after 
the lapse of several months, that the mother 
was stricken down with a lingering illness, 


14 


Margie’s mistake. 


and for many weeks lay partially uncon- 
scious, piteously moaning in the intervals of 
returning reason for her lost darling. 

Time passed on, and instead of succumb- 
ing to the ravages of disease, the unhappy 
wife slowly recovered, only to find that her 
devoted husband, worn out with hope de- 
ferred, had become a physical wreck, and 
that the continued mental strain had culmi- 
nated in a mild form of insanity. Per- 
fectly harmless, the poor clouded brain was 
ever indulging the fond imagination that it 
had at last discovered the secret hiding 
place of his lost babe; and nothing was 
more pathetic and touching than to see him 
fondly caressing each dimpled cherub that 
chanced to meet his eye, calling it by every 
endearing epithet known to the vocabulary 
of a doting father. 

The poor wife watched each dickering ray 
of intellect, praying for the return of reason, 
even as she had prayed for the return of the 
babe; and, with true wifely devotion, en- 
deavored by all the means at her command 


THE LOST CHILD. 


15 


to divert the mind of her husband from the 
one thought which had shattered his mental 
as well as his physical organization. In 
this she was doomed to disappointment, 
and one year from the day on which the 
child had so mysteriously disappeared, the 
father was confined to a private asylum, 
where he was pronounced from the first 
incurable. 

After this the mother took up the search 
with a still stronger incentive to work, feel- 
ing sure that the restoration of the babe was 
the only means of restoring the mental fac- 
ulties of her husband. Far and near she 
continued the search, and at the expiration 
of another year, she one day received intel- 
ligence that a child, believed to be the miss- 
ing one, was dying at the Foundlings’ Home 
in a neighboring city. Hastening thither, 
she arrived in time to see the little sufferer 
breathe its last, and to hear from the ma- 
tron’s lips the story that it had been found 
one morning sitting upon the steps of the 
Institution; and, being too young to tell how 


16 


Margie's mistake. 


or when she came there, was taken in and 
cared for. 

Upon inquiry, however, it was learneti that 
a closely veiled woman had been seen lead- 
ing the little one inside the gate at an early 
hour, and most likely had left it there, know- 
ing it would soon be discovered by the in- 
mates. Farther than this nothing was 
known, and the simple fact that the infant 
was about the same age as the lost one, was 
in itself but slight proof of its identity; yet 
the keen maternal eye fancied at once that 
she traced some resemblance to her long-lost 
babe in the little pinched, emaciated form 
that lay before her. Still another and more 
convincing piece of evidence was brought to 
bear upon the case, from the fact that, upon 
a close examination of the body, a small 
purple spot was discovered, which closely 
resembled a birth mark which the anxious 
mother recalled as having been noticeable 
upon the person of her child. 

The heart-broken woman needed nothing 
more to convince her that the little bunch 


THE LOST CHILD. 


17 


of inanimate clay lying before her was in- 
deed all that belonged to earth of her long- 
lost babe. With a feeling that a buried 
grief was less hard to bear than a living 
trouble, and a sense of relief that the long 
suspense was over at last, she wearily 
wended her way back to her desolate home, 
bearing with her the precious remains of 
her little Helene. 

The father was brought from the Asylum 
to gaze upon the dead form of his child, as 
hope was entertained that it might possibly 
restore his lost reason; but, while he feebly 
pronounced it his own little one, and at 
times showed some signs of mental improve- 
ment, the strain had been too great, and ere 
another year had passed, he was laid in the 
family vault beside the remains of Baby 
Helene. 

After a few years of quiet mourning, in 
which she shrank from all social intercourse, 
the disconsolate widow, broken in health, 
yet bearing many traces of her former 
beauty, removed to a distant city, where, 


18 


Margie’s mistake. 


surrounded by kind friends, she sought to 
bury the sad memories that clouded the early 
sunshine of her domestic happiness. How 
well she succeeded may be determined by 
the fact that, three years later, the announce- 
ment of the marriage of Mrs. Charles La- 
grange to a retired army officer appeared in 
the columns of a leading journal. 

Many were the hearty congratulations of- 
fered by admiring friends, who had known 
and loved this amiable lady in the midst of 
her desolation and despair, and all were 
happy to know that the fountain of earthly joy 
was not dried up forever, but that from the 
dying embers of the unhappy past, fresh-born 
hopes and sweet aspirations had awakened 
to newness of life. And now as we draw a 
veil over the opening chapter of our story, 
let us hope that the flowers, which perchance 
may bloom along the pathway of the future, 
may emit as sweet and subtle a perfume as 
if the past were unclouded by events of so 
great magnitude. 


CHAPTER II. 


MARGIE. 

‘‘ She’s a foine lass, that — aye, a foine 
lass — and the pictur’ of her sainted mither,” 
were the words of old Michael, as he 
brushed away the silent tear that was cours- 
ing down his thin, weather-beaten face. 

Margie, come here to me and sit on yer 
old father’s knee. Margie, do ye hear? ” 

“Yes, father, I’m coming,” said a sweet, 
childish voice, as a bright young girl came 
bounding forth from a low, moss-covered 
cabin, which was the humble habitation of 
Michael O’Connor and his only child. 

Placing herself upon her father’s knee, as 
he sat upon the rude porch in front of their 
lowly dwelling, she clasped both white 
shapely arms about his neck, and looking 
into his dim, sunken eyes, asked why he 
looked so sad. 

“ I was thinking, my sweet bonnie lass, of 


19 


20 


makgie’s mistake. 


the tinie when you’d be tiring of this quiet 
life here, all alone with yer old father, and 
be wantin’ to run oif with some handsome 
young lad and make a leetle nest all to yer- 
sel’ — eh, Margie?” 

Papa, whatever put such nonsense into 
your head? ” said the girl, at the same time 
imprinting a hearty kiss upon the old man’s 
wrinkled brow. 

“ Hey, child, hev’ ye never thought o’ the 
loikes yersel’? ” 

Dropping her head upon his breast, she 
replied, in a low, pensive voice: ‘‘No one 
has ever spoken to me of this, and I could 
hardly dwell upon anything that seems so 
very far away.” 

“That’s not the question, lass. Did ye 
never think the young master might ask ye 
to be his own leetle wife some day?” 

“ Oh, father, father!” and the fair young 
head fell upon his bosom, while great tears 
filled her big brown eyes; “please, papa, 
never speak of the son of Captain Fair- 
child wishing to wed the daughter of his 


MARGIE. 


‘21 


father’s gardener. It is absurd, it is im- 
possible! ” 

“Well, lass, he hangs around considerable 
o’ late, on one pretence and another, and I 
dunno what it all means.” 

Raising her tear-stained face to his, she 
begged to be released, and disengaging her- 
self from his embrace, walked slowly away. 
Reaching her own poorly-furnished apart- 
ments, she threw herself upon the bed, and 
burying her face in the pillow, sobbed pit- 
eously. “Oh, has my father at last discov- 
ered my long-hidden secret! Does he know 
that his poor foolish child is so weak as to 
give her heart unsought to Arthur Fair- 
child? No, no; I must — and will — crush 
out this wild passion that is fast gaining con- 
trol of my every thought! ” 

Arthur Fairchild was the only son of a 
wealthy and aristocratic father; and, al- 
though not a dissolute youth in the broadest 
sense which that term implies, was, using a 
homely phrase, sowing his wild oats. He 
had just finished his college course, and con- 


22 


Margie’s mistake. 


trary to his father’s wishes, had declared 
himself unwilling to visit the old world pre- 
vious to entering upon the studies of his 
chosen profession — that of the law. He pre- 
ferred to pass his time for the next six 
months in the enjoyment of his favorite 
pastime — hunting and fishing — rather than 
to be under the watchful eye of his maternal 
ancestor, during an extended European trip. 

Captain Fairchild had for many years oc- 
cupied the lovely home where he now resided, 
and as the relentless hand of death had sev- 
ered the silken cord that bound three beau- 
tiful and beloved children to earth, he had 
centered all his hopes upon Arthur, his only 
remaining child. To gratify his every wish 
was the father’s highest ambition; conse- 
quently, when this young gentlemen ex- 
pressed the desire to remain at home, rather 
than accompany his mother abroad, the over- 
indulgent parent was quite ready to yield the 
point; hence, the proposed European trip 
for mother and son was a thing only to be 
realized in imagination. 


MARGIE. 


23 


Arthur Fairchild was an exceedingly 
handsome young man. His dark flashing 
eyes bespoke a nature that would submit to 
no restraint; and, while the father looked 
upon the petted child of fortune with the 
fondest admiration, the more sensible but 
equally loving mother trembled for the 
future welfare of her wayward son. She 
feared the result, when once his bark was 
fairly launched upon the rough sea of life. 
The parental roof was considered by her as 
the only safeguard and protection from the 
evils that doth so easily beset, and she 
looked forward with grave apprehension to 
the time when Arthur would leave the home 
of his childhood. Ah, the patient long- 
suffering mother little knows, as she pillows 
the infantile head upon her loving breast, 
whether the young life she guards so faith- 
fully will cause her to blush at the sacred 
name of mother, or crown her life in after 
years with the sweet joys known to those 
whose children rise up and call them 
blessed. 


24 


Margie’s mistake. 


One bright afternoon, as Margie was re- 
turning from a visit to one of her compan- 
ions, she very unexpectedly came in contact 
with young Fairchild, who was reclining 
listlessly under the shade of a forest tree 
near the home of old Michael. She was a 
lovely picture as she came tripping along, her 
little jaunty hat perched on one side of her 
head; her long fair curls blown in bewitch- 
ing confusion over her snowy neck and 
shoulders, while in her hand she carried an 
exquisite bouquet of wild-flowers. Singing 
merrily along, this innocent young maiden 
was unprepared for the interview that 
awaited her. As her eyes chanced to rest 
on Arthur Fairchild, she dropped a low 
courtesy, while the crimson current mantled 
her neck and face. She was hurrying tim- 
idly past, when he accosted her in the fol- 
lowing manner: 

“Hey, Margie, my pretty little wild- 
flower, whither art thou going? ” 

“ I’m going home, sir,” she replied, con- 
fusedly. “ I have been to see a friend who 


MARGIE. 


25 


was my room-mate the winter father sent me 
to the seminary at D- 

‘‘Ah, indeed; then you have been away to 
school, have you?” 

“Yes, sir; for one year only. I attended 
the village school here for some time, but 
my father saved up his earnings, and together 
with some money my uncle sent me', I was 
enabled to go away to school for one year.” 

“ Who took care of your father’s house in 
the meantime? ” 

“ My grandmother, sir,” she replied; “my 
father’s mother, but she died six months 
ago, dear old lady, and I was then compelled 
to return and superintend my father’s home. 
Good day, sir, I must be going.” 

“Oh no, not so soon. Miss Margie; stay 
and talk with me, won’t you? I like to hear 
you talk.” 

“ Oh no, sir, it is getting late, and I must 
hurry home,” she timidly answered; “be- 
sides, my father does not like to have me 
talk to strange gentlemen.” 

“ Strange gentlemen, Margie?” replied the 


26 


Margie’s mistake. 


young man, “ why, I’m no stranger. I knew 
you when you were a little bit of a girl.” 

“Yes, sir, I dare say you did, but you have 
been away to college for such a long time, 
and grown to be a man since you knew me, 
and now you seem very like a stranger.” 

So saying she swept along, without giving 
her companion a chance to continue the con- 
versation. After she had disappeared from 
his admiring gaze he lay upon the cool grass 
for some time in deep meditation. 

“By Jove!” he soliloquized, “she’s a 
stunning pretty girl! Just rig her up in 
style, and she would play the deuce with 
more hearts than one. Been to school, too 
— Jupiter, what eyes! Well, well, I had 
thought her rather above her class, both in 
looks and manner, but I’ll be whipped if I 
ever dreamed she could be quite as fascinat- 
ing as she appears to-day. Wonder what 
the ‘ Governor’ would say if 1 should fall in 
love with this little rustic beauty? Guess 
I’m in luck after all in giving up that little 
foreign trip. I’d half a notion to go at one 


MARGIE. 


27 


time, but now I’ve become somewhat inter- 
ested in this little piece of femininity and 
will try to get a bit of fun out of it.” So 
saying he gathered up his fishing-tackle and 
game-bag and walked slowly toward home. 


CHAPTER III. 


A WAYWARD YOUTH. 

For several weeks subsequent to the fore- 
going interview, Margie seemed restless and 
uneasy. The bright hue had faded from her 
cheeks, the old light had gone out of her 
eyes, and her merry laugh was no more 
heard to resound through the humble cot- 
tage as she performed her daily routine of 
home duties. 

Old Michael saw with painful apprehen- 
sion the change that had come over his child 
and vainly endeavored to ascertain the 
cause, but she maintained unbroken silence 
when questioned upon the subject, assuring 
him from time to time that it was but a 
slight indisposition that would soon pass 
away. 

In the meantime, young Fairchild was ill 
at ease. He was aware that his father had 
set his heart upon a union between himself 


28 


A WAYWARD YOUTH. 


29 


and the daughter of a city gentleman of 
wealth and position, and true to the instincts 
of nature, had fully determined not to allows 
his affections to be coerced into a channel 
w’^here they did not voluntarily flow. He 
had met the young lady but once, and was 
not at all prepossessed in her favor, and 
while he was supposed to be in ignorance 
of his father’s wishes regarding the mat- 
ter, was virtually planning the means of 
escape. 

Blanche DuPere (for this was her name) 
was the only daughter of Captain Fair- 
child’s dearest friend, and as these gentlemen 
were possessed of considerable wealth, they 
had secretly resolved to unite their fortunes 
in the marriage of the young people, without 
having consulted their tastes or inclinations 
in the matter; hence, when informed by his 
mother that Mr. DuPere with his wife and 
daughter were about to pay them a visit, 
Arthur was chagrined, and openly manifested 
his indignation by asking in no very gentle 
manner ‘‘ what in thunder they were coming 


30 


Margie’s mistake. 


up there for,” adding that he had hoped for 
a little peace and quiet, and if they expected 
him to help entertain old DuPere and 
family, ‘‘ they had shot wide of the 
mark.” 

“ Why, my son,” replied his gentle 
mother, “ your father wishes you to make 
the acquaintance of these very estimable 
people, thinking thereby to add to your 
enjoyment, and surely you can have no 
serious objections to your father’s friends 
paying us a visit.” 

“I don’t care particularly about the old 
man’s coming, but he had better leave his 
wife and that confounded daughter of his 
at home.” 

“Oh, my 5on, my son! how can you speak 
in such a rude manner of those for whom 
you should have the most profound respect,” 
remonstrated the mother. “Arthur, my 
child,” she added, “ I deeply regret to learn 
that your college course has failed to 
develop those nobler qualities which T would 
have my son possess. You should certainly 


A WAYWARD YOUTH. 


31 


be a gentleman in your mother’s presence, if 
nowhere else.” 

Seeing that he had wounded the feelings 
of his mother, he drew near her, and in a 
tone of humiliation rather than anger, con- 
tinued: “Well, mother, you know just how 
it is when we have company. Last summer 
I was bored to death during the few weeks 
of vacation, when I wanted to rest, and I 
should really like to have a little time to 
spend as my fancy dictates. You see this 
same old DuPere, with his wife and 
daughter (the latter I thoroughly dislike), 
came in upon us, and I was obliged to play 
the agreeable and humor all her infernal 
whims. Some fellows may think it’s fun to 
ramble around through the wet grass before 
breakfast, hunting beetles and caterpillers to 
stock a girl’s menagerie; row her over all the 
mill-ponds in the vicinity, capturing flies at 
intervals wherewith to bait a pin hook, w^hen 
there is not the slightest possibility of her 
catching anything save a cold in her head; but 
as for me I can find a more congenial pastime.” 


32 


Margie’s mistake. 


“ My son,” replied the mother, “ I am 
pained at your lack of gallantry.” 

“Gallantry! there it goes again! Why, 
mother, girls ought to have a little sense if 
they expect a fellow to do their bidding. 
Only think of hearing a girl screech at the 
sight of a grasshopper; go off into a feint at 
the croaking of a tree toad, and be thrown 
into a lit of hysterics at the near approach 
of a devil’s darning-needle! Oh bosh! my 
fun’s up for the summer! Well, well this is 
a pretty mess to rope a fellow into.” And 
having thus unburdened his over wrought 
feelings, he sauntered away in the direction 
of old Michael’s dwelling. 

Arriving at the gate, he saw Margie seated 
upon a grassy mound beneath the shade of a 
huge oak that stood near the entrance of her 
humble cottage. In her hands she held a 
piece of fancy-work, and as Arthur ap- 
proached and bade her good morning, she 
modestly dropped her eyes and seemed intent 
upon weaving the bright colored worsteds 
into a shapely mass. 


A WAYWARD YOUTH. 


33 


‘‘What have you there so pretty?” he 
kindly questioned. 

“Oh,” she replied, “only a scarf which is 
to be my father’s Christmas present.” 

Seeing the pained look upon her face, he 
drew near her and abruptly asked why she so 
much dreaded an interview with him. “ Is 
my presence disagreeable 'to you, Margie?” 
he asked in a somewhat serious tone. 

She arose and was about to depart without 
answering, when she suddenly turned to him 
and in a voice trembling with emotion said: 
“ Mr. Fairchild, please never come here again. 
I think your visits distress my father, and I 
— I’d rather not meet you.” 

Having thus spoken, she burst into tears, 
and hastily swept past him; but he caught 
her by the hand, and drawing her near him 
was about to speak, when she raised her 
beautiful tear stained eyes to his and implored 
him to release her. Gazing fondly upon the 
frightened girl, in whom he was each moment 
becoming more and more interested, he 
promised to terminate the seemingly painful 


34 


Margie’s mistake. 


interview, if she would first candidly tell 
him her objection to seeing him alone. 

“ Is it,” said he, “ contrary to your own 
wishes, Margie, or for your father’s sake 
that you make this request? You do not 
fear me, do you? Listen to me, Margie. 
Ever since you were a mere child my 
mother has had a watchful care over you. 
I remember when I stood before your 
mother’s open grave, and saw your father 
press you close to his breast, and amid sobs 
of anguish beg heaven’s protection for his 
motherless child; and do you think, Margie, 
I would consciously harm one hair of your 
head? Believe me, before heaven, I would 
not!” 

With a wild, frightened stare she looked 
about her, and being reassured by the gentle 
manner in which he addressed her, she 
blushingly replied: “Oh no, no, Mr. Fair- 
child; I do not fear you, but — but ” 

“ Speak, and tell me all,” interrupted the 
young man. 

“Well, then, I will say that, had my sta- 


A WAYWARD YOUTH. 


35 


tion in life been such as to warrant me in 
receiving your visits, 1 should gladly have 
entered your name upon my list of friends, 
for I have so few.” 

‘‘Hang it all, that’s what I thought!” 
muttered the youth in an undertone; “so 
much for the aristocratic blood that courses 
through my veins. Well, well, Margie, if 
this is all, then allow me to say that I alone 
am responsible for my choice of acquaint- 
ances; and if I feel that you are confer- 
ring a pleasure upon me by accepting my 
friendship whose business is it, if not my 
own?” 

Ere these words had died upon his lips, the 
voice of old Michael was heard in the dis- 
tance, as he came trudging along home after 
a hard day’s labor, merrily singing some 
familiar Irish ballad. 

“There now, you must go at once, and 
please do not come again,” urged the 
shrinking girl in a tremulous voice. 

With a hurried “ Good-by until we meet 
again,” he quickly obeyed her injunction, 


36 


Margie’s mistake. 


mentally resolving to visit her again at his 
earliest convenience. 

As Margie went about, silently preparing 
the evening meal, the quick eye of her 
anxious parent discovered that her step was 
light and elastic and something of the old 
brightness shone in her beaming eyes. 
Thinking to divine the cause, he abruptly 
asked if the young master had been round 
again. Shocked and surprised at this sud- 
den question, the true answer to which she 
shrank from giving, Margie hesitated a mo- 
ment and then timidly replied: 

Yes, father, Mr. Fairchild called here to- 
day, and I — and I — I asked him not to come 
again, as I thought his visits displeased you; 
and besides, I did not wish to see him myself.” 

‘‘Ah ha, lass; and had yer the courage to 
tell him the loikes o’ that? You are right, 
my purty; let the young sprig know as he 
is not wanted here.” And with a feeling of 
satisfaction, old Michael sank back in his 
chair, and ere long was enjoying a refresh- 
ing sleep. 


A WAYWARD YOUTH. 


37 


With the hitter consciousness of having 
deceived her father, by leaving the impres- 
sion that young Fairchild’s visits were 
distasteful to her, poor Margie sadly recalled 
the early lessons taught by her mother, in 
which dissimulation was set forth as being 
equivalent in its evil propensity to that of 
absolute falsehood. 

As old Michael rubbed his sleepy eyes 
and drew near the table with a yawn, he 
glanced at Margie’s pale, troubled face, 
which a short time previous had beamed 
with pleasure, and being unable to deter- 
mine the cause of this sudden transition, 
began greedily to devour the food set before 
him, while he revolved the question in his 
own mind, and decided that verily the ways 
of girls were mysterious and past finding 
out. 


CHAPTER IV. 

YOUNG love’s dream. 

A few weeks later all was confusion at 
the stately residence of Captain Fairchild. 
The city friends had arrived, and true to 
Arthur’s prediction, he was mustered into 
the service of Miss DuPere, much against 
his inclination, for he it said to his credit, 
he was not a male flirt, and having sworn 
allegiance to his own heart in the matter of 
choosing a life companion, he was annoyed 
at being compelled to appear interested in a 
young lady for whom he entertained no 
feeling save that of aversion. 

Blanche DuPere was a tall stately blonde, 
with a cold reticent face, which bore the 
impress of a life devoted to fashionable 
society, and wholly devoid of that sweet 
simplicity that must characterize the woman 
whom Arthur would call wife. The remem- 
brance of his last interview with Margie 


38 


YOUNG love’s dream. 


39 


filled his youthful heart with emotions to 
which he had hitherto been a stranger, and 
he feared lest his strong impulsive nature 
should lead him into saying and doing 
things which upon mature deliberation 
he might regret. 

Humiliating as would have been the 
thought to his proud parents, had they 
suspected the fact, it was, nevertheless, true 
that Arthur Fairchild was fast giving way 
to an uncontrollable passion for the old 
gardener’s daughter, and he really longed 
for an opportunity when unobserved he 
might pay another brief visit to the humble 
cottage, but in this he was doomed to 
disappointment, as all pre-arranged plans 
for the accomplishment of this purpose were 
overthrown by his father, whose keen eye 
was quick to discover the fact that his son 
was in no wise anxious to be monopolized 
by Mademoiselle DuPere, and who was ever 
ready to devise some scheme that would 
keep him a prisoner at her side. 

Finding himself foiled in his frequent 


40 


Margie’s mistake. 


attempts to obtain leave of absence, Arthur 
relinquished all hope of ever seeing Margie 
again, until after such time as the unwel- 
come guests should have taken their 
departure. 

As the days dragged their weary length 
along Arthur became sullen and morose, 
giving little heed to his surroundings, while 
he secretly wished for a speedy termination 
to his state of intolerable servitude. His 
mother, discovering her son’s disquietude, 
thought to divert his mind by making 
arrangements for a large social gathering, 
ostensibly given in honor of their distin- 
guished guests, but really for the purpose 
of trying to arouse her son from the morbid 
state in which he had fallen. Accordingly 
due preparations were made, and all the 
gentry round about were invited to partici- 
pate in the coming festivities. 

As the time approached Captain Fair- 
child’s handsome residence was the scene 
of confusion, and while able masters of 
the culinary art were duly installed, the 


YOUNG love’s dream. 


41 


work of decorative art was in no wise 
neglected, and all that refined taste could 
suggest was lavishly bestowed upon the 
various apartments. Wreaths of exquisite 
flowers adorned the majestic walls and hung 
in festoons from every available nook. 

As fairy fingers were giving the last 
finishing touch to this floral display, Arthur 
sat gloomily looking on and silently 
meditating upon the coming event. Tie 
bitterly denounced in his own mind the 
relentless hand of fate that had placed an 
inseparable barrier between the . children 
reared in the arms of affluence and those of 
humble origin. Why, thought he, should 
the accident of birth and education elevate 
a small portion of God’s universe to the 
highest pinnacle of social distinction; while 
the vast multitude, even though endowed 
with nature’s noblest attributes, must meekly 
tread the lowly walks of life, forever crush- 
ing the desires and aspirations which are 
placed in their bosoms by an all-wise 
Creator? 


42 


Margie’s mistake. 


As the guests assembled, filling the large 
drawing-room with youth, beauty and fash- 
ion, Arthur moved about among the gay 
throng, manifesting but little interest in 
any particular object, yet bestowing a 
friendly greeting upon all, and evincing 
well feigned pleasure as he renewed the ac- 
quaintance of many who in former years 
had shared his juvenile sports. 

Miss DuPere was the cynosure of all eyes, 
and as Arthur’s arm encirled her waist as 
they whirled away in the dreamy rapture of 
an inspiring waltz, many were the shafts of 
envy aimed at the seemingly happy pair that 
rumor had already characterized as engaged. 
The hearts of both ambitious imter familias 
swelled with pride as they gazed in admira- 
tion upon this handsome couple, and secretly 
cherished the fond hope that ere long they 
would be called upon to bestow the paternal 
blessing. 

As the evening wore away and the hour 
for refreshment was announced, Arthur’s at- 
tention was suddenly attracted to a slight 


YOUNG love’s dk?:am. 


43 


girlish figure clad in the garb of a servant 
and flitting from place to place in obedience 
to his mother’s commands. For a moment 
his heart stood still, but regaining his com- 
posure, he quietly excused himself and passed 
into an adjacent room. A few moments 
of impatient waiting and his object was at- 
tained, for before him stood the frightened, 
shrinking form of poor Margie. 

With a feeling akin to anger, as he looked 
into the pale, haggard face of this sensitive 
young creature and saw the pleading eyes 
upturned to his, he asked in an undertone 
how she came to be present upon that occa- 
sion. 

‘‘ Oh, don’t — please don’t speak to me, Mr. 
Fairchild,” she replied, in a trembling voice, 
and turning to flee from him she was arrested 
by the determined look in his dark flashing 
eyes. 

Seeing they were unobserved, he eagerly 
seized her by the hand, and before she was 
aware of his purpose was being hurried along 
a narrow path leading into the garden. A 


44 


Margie's mistake. 


few steps brought them beneath the friendly 
shelter of a vine-clad harbor, where, seating 
her upon a rustic bench, Arthur placed him- 
self at her side. Taking her hand in his he 
tenderly inquired what she was doing there. 

‘‘ Oh, Mr. Fairchild,” she answered, “ it is 
not of my own free will that I came, but 
your good mother, thinking I could assist 
her as w^ell as enjoy seeing so many grand 
people, kindly bade me come, and I did not 
dare refuse; but,” pleaded the frightened 
girl, ‘‘ I feel very ill, and with her per- 
mission I would gladly go home at once. 

The soft moonlight creeping through the 
vines overhead revealed the pained look 
upon her face, and as Arthur gazed into the 
deep tender eyes, the magic power of which 
drew forth the noblest impulses of his na- 
ture, he realized that the keys to his happi- 
ness were in the hands of this innocent 
young girl. The flimsy veil of social dis- 
tinction was thrown aside, and Arthur Fair- 
child for the first time in his life was hope- 
lessly in love. 


YOUNG love’s dream. 


45 


Was it sympathy only for this friendless 
girl that prompted these feelings, or was it 
the noble instincts of manhood asserting 
their right? We will presently see. 

Unable to conceal his emotion, he tenderly 
placed his arm about her waist and with a 
feeling of pride, rather than humiliation, in 
a few hasty words told her his love. 

‘^Margie,” said he, “I here oifer you that 
deeper and stronger affection which emanates 
from a true manly heart, and will ask you 
if you can give me that nearer and dearer 
place that I fain would occupy.” 

^‘Oh, Mr. Fairchild,” began the happy but 
half-frightened girl 

“Call me Arthur,” interrupted the lover, 
“ for henceforth we are equals.” 

“Well then, Arthur,” she began, as the 
name trembled on her faltering lips, if you 
wish me to be frank and honest, I will say 
that you have long since occupied that 
nearer and dearer place of which you now 
speak. There, be content and question me 
no more, for my heart tells me that it is 


46 


Margie’s mistake. 


wrong to confess a love that can only bring 
misery to us both. 

“Hush, Margie,” said he, clasping her 
more closely, while he imprinted upon her 
lips a lover’s kiss. 

The guileless young creature scarcely 
realized the true meaning of all this, but 
she felt that a great joy, hitherto unknown, 
had come into her life. 

“And now, Margie, my own darling, go at 
once to my mother and tell her you are not 
feeling well and wish to go home. She will 
excuse you. Speak to no one but Mrs. Fair- 
child, and do not mention having seen me. 
Trust me, Margie, and no harm shall ever 
come to you.” 

With a hurried good-night they paited. 
A few minutes later Arthur joined the 
company, and seating himself by ]Miss 
DuPere’s side, was soon engaged in pleas- 
ant conversation; and, although he endeav- 
ored to disguise the emotions that thrilled 
his heart and sent the hot young blood 
coursing through his veins with increased 


YOUNG love’s dream. 


47 


rapidity, he was unable to conceal the fact 
that his thoughts were quite foreign to the 
subjects of conversation. This vague, 
dreamy state of mind becoming apparent to 
all, Miss DuPere banteringly demanded an 
explanation. 

“You have been running away from us, 
Mr. Fairchild, during which time you were 
sadly missed, said she; and now upon your 
return appear to be studying futurity, or 
solving some knotty problem connected 
with the past. You will please permit me 
to occupy the confessional throne, while you 
unburden your soul of its hidden secrets. 
I will promise absolution in all cases where 
the heart has not become entangled in the 
meshes of Cupid, but I realize in such a case 
it would be rather a delicate undertaking, 
and I should feel constrained to allow the 
barbed arrow to remain in its hiding place 
until removed by the fair hand that placed 
it there.” 

The sensitive nature of young Fairchild 
could not bear the probe without flinch- 


48 


MARGIE^S MISTAKE. 


ing, but he attempted to smile as he an- 
swered. 

“Ah, indeed; then I am not to be forgiven 
if I have fallen an innocent victim to the 
tyrant queen,” and he bit his lip with sup- 
pressed indignation, remarking in a casual 
manner that he had met an old friend out 
on the veranda and had stolen a brief in- 
terview, whereupon with a proud curl of the 
lip, he adroitly changed the conversation. 

The remainder of the evening passed 
pleasantly, but it was with a sigh of relief 
that Arthur paid his respects to the ..numer- 
ous guests as they took their departure. 
Tired and nervous, he gladly sought the 
welcome solitude of his own room, there to 
meditate upon the strange transactions of 
the last few hours. Throwing himself 
across the bed he was soon enjoying a re- 
freshing sleep, and awoke at broad daylight 
from a pleasant dream, in which he saw a 
fair young face bending over him in tender 
solicitude, but which vanished as he stretched 
forth his hand to secure the coveted treasure. 


CHAPTER Y. 

A FARCICAL AFFAIR. 


The wayward son and daughter were not 
long in divining the intentions of the in- 
triguing parents, and could the graydiaired 
sire of Blanche DuPere have looked 
through the windows of his daughter’s 
heart, he would have there discovered, seat- 
ed upon a majestic throne, the idol of her 
soul. He would then have realized how 
vain was the attempt to uproot the affection 
so long bestowed upon happy Ralph Mor- 
timer, to whom she had been secretly 
affianced for over a year. 

Captain Fairchild had quietly informed 
his son that he was expected to offer him- 
self in marriage to Blanche DuPere, and 
that by acceding to his wishes in this re- 
spect he would not only enhance his father’s 
happiness, but insure to himself the whole 
of his vast fortune, which, coupled with the 


49 


50 


Margie’s mistake. 


immense v/ealth which that young lady w^ould 
inherit, must redound to the credit of both 
families and make him the wealthiest man 
in the country. This was offered as suf- 
ficient reason for him to regard the match 
as very desirable in all respects, and one 
that would be agreeable to both families, 
assuring him at the same time that he was 
looked upon with favor by this very fortu- 
nate young lady. 

Arthur possessed quite enough knowledge 
of human nature to know that, although 
Blance DuPere received the numerous little 
attentions which he bestowed upon her with 
true politeness and well feigned pleasure, 
her heart’s best affections were not being 
wasted upon him, and however much she 
appeared to be interested, she was simply 
playing a role in accordance with her father’s 
wishes; hence, the tale of mutual grievances 
would be the more easily narrated. 

One bright afternoon, as the sun was re- 
ceding behind the western hills, the fond 
parents looked with silent admiration upon 


A FARCICAL AFFAIR. 


51 


the young couple as they strolled leisurely 
along toward the lake upon which Captain 
Fairchild had placed a small sail boat for the 
pleasure of his distinguished guests; but, 
ere they had reached the water’s edge, they 
turned down a narrow path which led in the 
direction of old Michael’s cabin. Arriving 
at a spot which afforded a fine view of the 
lake, Blanche suggested that they rest awhile 
in this picturesque spot and enjoy the cool 
evening breeze. 

Arthur was only too willing to embrace 
this opportunity, for his rebellious feelings 
were fast becoming uncontrollable, and he 
longed to have an understanding and ac- 
quaint his fair companion of the conspiracy 
into which their parents had entered, feel- 
ing assured of her co-operation in a matter 
^o vital to the happiness of both. Accordingly, 
Blanche seated herself upon a huge bowlder, 
throwing a light shawl over her shoulders as 
a protection from the cool night air. 

Arthur placed himself at her side, and 
after a brief silence, in which he was medi- 


52 


Margie’s mistake. 


tating upon the best form in which to ac- 
quaint her of the awkward position in which 
he was placed, suddenly exclaimed: 

“Miss DuPere, I have something import- 
ant to say to you, and although this may not 
seem the time or the place for an exchange 
of confidences, still I feel impelled to avail 
myself of the present opportunity of speak- 
ing to you upon a very delicate subject. 
You may or may not be aware that our pa- 
ternal ancestors are indulging the hope that 
sooner or later their respective families may 
be united in closer relations than those of 
ordinary friendship; in fact, I am informed 
by my officious but well-meaning father that 
such is the case, and farther, that I am ex- 
pected to take the initiatory step in that 
direction.” 

“Ah, indeed,” replied the young lady, 
slightly blushing; “I think I fully compre- 
hend the situation, and will ask what the 
result will be, providing neither of us feel 
disposed to lend our aid in the furtherance 
of this delightful scheme?” 


A FAKCICAIi AFFAIR. 


53 


“That is precisely what I wish to discuss,” 
eagerly exclaimed the youth. 

“Well then, Mr. Fairchild, I will frankly 
say that I have been aware of the wishes of 
our parents, and have not been unmindful of 
the embarrassment to which you were sub- 
jected, but if it is indeed as you have said, 
that you are to take the initiatory ste^D, sup- 
pose you do so at once and put an end to all 
this folly. In obedience to your father’s 
commands there remains but one thing to be 
done, and that is to fall at my feet in the 
most approved and modern style, and there 
declare the love you do not feel and beg me 
to accept a place in your heart to which I 
never aspired, and I will guarantee you safe 
delivery from such a miserable incumbrance 
as I should prove. Your honored parent 
can urge nothing further than that you com- 
ply with his wishes in this matter, and you 
may trust the result to me.” 

Bending upon one knee in the attitude of 
a supplicant suing for mercy, Arthur, in a 
tone of mock humility and becoming rever- 


54 


MARGIE S MISTAKE. 


ence, pronounced the solemn words, “ Blanche 
will you do me the honor to become my 
wife?” 

Ere these words had died on his lips he 
was startled by a sharp sound as of the 
sudden breaking of a dry limb. Thinking 
it was caused by the wind rustling through 
the trees or more likely perhaps his own 
imagination, he gave the matter no thought, 
and was soon gayly chatting with Blanche, 
who was thoroughly enjoying her latest 
proposal. Of course she breathed a low re- 
fusal offering to bind up his lacerated 
feelings with promises of everlasting friend- 
ship, sisterly affection and kindred remedies, 
while he in turn was laughingly accusing her 
of trifling with the susceptible heart of an 
innocent youth, and then crushing his fond- 
est hopes just as doubt was giving way to 
blissful certainty. 

‘‘And now, Mr. Fairchild,” said Blanche, 
“you are at liberty to acquaint your re^ 
spected father of the fact that Miss DuPere 
regrets her inability to gratify his wishes. 


A FARCICAL AFFAIR. 


55 


and modestly declines the honors which his 
generosity would bestow. This will exon- 
erate you from all blame in not niarrying 
against your own will and that of the lady 
he so unwisely selected for you. I can read- 
ily heal the wound in my dear father’s heart 
by assuring him that my future happiness 
depends upon his consent to my marriage 
with the man to whom I have long been 
affianced, but for obvious reasons of a per- 
sonal nature have allowed the engagement 
to remain a secret. So you see, my dear 
sir, that a previous arrangement, if nothing 
more, would deter me from accepting the 
highest honor at your hands that man can 
bestow upon mortal woman.” 

So saying, the two started off in a home- 
ward direction, exultant over the happy 
termination of what promised, a few hours 
previous, to be a rather complicated affair, 
while Arthur was vainly endeavoring to 
stamp upon his facial organs the impress of 
one whose fondest hopes had been suddenly 
crushed. 


56 


Margie’s mistake. 


Scarcely had the sound of their voices 
died in the distance, when, bounding forth 
like a hunted deer, and with a wild startled 
cry, poor Margie rushed from the spot 
where she had been an unwilling listener to 
those cruel words which had extinguished 
all the light that a few hours previous 
had illumined her young and trusting 
heart. 

Could Arthur Fairchild have seen that 
sweet pale face, those ashen lips that sought 
to frame a prayer to high heaven for guid- 
ance in her hour of grief; could he have 
seen the anguish that rent the heart of this 
pure young girl, who had been a silent 
witness to what she believed to be his per- 
fidy, and ventured one word of explanation, 
he might have spared her as well as him- 
self, the dark hours that followed. 

With bated breath and throbbing heart, 
Margie heard those solemn words, ‘‘Blanche 
will you do me the honor to become my 
wife,” and closing her eyes and ears to all 
else, she awaited in hopeless despair the 


A FARCICAL AFFAIR. 


57 


termination of that interview, believing her- 
self abandoned by the man who had won 
her heart, and then cast her aside as a child 
would a plaything of which it had grown 
weary. 

‘‘And this,” she cried, “is but a just 
recompense for my blind folly, in allowing 
myself to love a man so far above my 
station. It is finished, life has nothing 
more in store for me!” 

She grew icy cold as she stood there in 
the pale twilight and recalled the happy 
hour when Arthur Fairchild had bade her 
trust him, after having poured into her 
willing ears that sweet tale of old, which to 
the susceptible heart of an innocent young 
girl is the crowning glory of her life. She 
felt that long years had passed since she 
listened to those words which filled her life 
with the sweetest joy she had ever known; 
since Arthur Fairchild had placed upon her 
lips the seal of a betrothal kiss. But all was 


over. 


CHAPTER YI. 


THE MISSING GIRL. 

One whole week had elapsed, and still no 
trace of the missing girl. All efforts to learn 
her whereabouts, or the cause of her sudden 
departure, were unavailing. Old Michael had 
returned at a late hour one evening from the 
town, whither he had gone in the morning 
hours to dispose of his few garden vegeta- 
bles, and instead of finding his supper in 
waiting as usual, found only an empty, cheer- 
less room from which all light and warmth had 
fled. 

As he groped about in the dark, calling 
loudly for the absent one, a great fear came 
over him lest something serious had befallen 
her, but suddenly recalling the fact that 
she frequently availed herself of the op- 
portunity to visit her friend in his ab- 
sence, he calmly proceeded to prepare for 
himself a frugal repast, after which, in 


58 


THE MISSING GIKL. 


59 


case she did not return, he would go in 
quest of her. 

Hastily swallowing a few mouthfuls, which 
well nigh choked him, he started out upon 
his fruitless errand. In vain he sought her, 
going from neighbor to neighbor, asking if 
she had been seen during the day, but each 
time he received a negative answer, until his 
pallid lips refused to repeat the question, and 
he returned to his humbla fireside, there to 
meditate in secret upon the strange event. 

It was evident that Margie had not been 
abducted, for each piece of her scanty ward- 
robe was likewise missing, and upon going 
to the little coffer which contained a few 
dollars, which were the proceeds of her 
flower-garden, and which she had carefully 
guarded as a means for the furtherance of her 
education, he found that also had been taken, 
together with a few trifles which from time 
to time had gladdened her heart as birth- 
day gifts. This convinced him that Margie 
had gone of her own free will, but the reason 
for this rash step was enshrouded in mystery. 


60 


Margie’s mistake. 


The sudden disappearance of the old gar- 
dener’s daughter caused but little comment 
among the few homely working people to 
whom it became known. It was thought that 
she had sought some means of livelihood 
which was more to her liking than that of 
housekeeper for her rough old father; and 
doubtless had ran off in a fit of pique, and 
would soon find out her mistake and return 
to the humble home of her childhood. As 
the days dew by hope gave way to despair in 
the heart of old Michael, and he began to 
question in his own mind why the visits of 
the young master had ceased altogether, and 
longed for a repetition of the same, as a 
source which might prove of benefit to him 
in finding his daughter. 

The cause of Arthur’s long continued 
absence from the home of old Michael was 
attributable to the fact that he had been sum- 
moned to the sick bedside of a college chum, 
for whom he entertained the deepest regard. 
Seeing that his friend was hopelessly ill, and 
his death only a question of time, he decided 


THE MISSING GIRL. 


61 


to remain until the end, knowing that his 
presence was a pleasure to the dying man. 

When the last mournful duties were com- 
pleted, he bade adieu to his grief-stricken 
friends and returned home, anxious to learn 
what changes had been wrought in his 
absence. He had acquitted himself creditably 
in the role of rejected lover previous to his 
departure, and was only too willing to go 
when called upon to visit his sick companion, 
knowing that ere his return the family of 
Mr. DuPere would have taken their departure. 
Accordingly the day after his arrival home 
he surreptitiously turned his footsteps in the 
direction of old Michael’s habitation. 

Without having been apprised of Margie’s 
flight, he was illy prepared for the terrible 
news which awaited him. Arriving at his 
destination, he found the broken-hearted 
father bowed down with the great calamity 
that had befallen him. With uncontrollable 
grief the poor old man related the sad truth 
with which the reader is already acquainted. 

Arthur listened attentively to the strange 


62 


Margie’s mistake. 


sequel, wondering in his own mind what had 
induced this fair young girl to thus abandon 
her father and, what was more, her lover, and 
he decided at once to take steps to unravel 
this mystery. 

On the following day, after having passed 
a sleepless night, Arthur again sought the 
home of the absent girl, wishing to gain 
farther particulars preparatory to beginning 
the search. As he came in sight of the cot- 
tage he was siezed with a strange sensation, 
and for some unknown reason his footsteps 
faltered, but he reluctantly pursued his way 
along the winding path, and ascended the 
rude steps where he had so often surprised 
poor innocent Margie. 

He found the door closed and no signs of 
life without or within. A hasty knock brought 
no response, and he entered with a feeling 
that he was intruding upon the sanctitv of a 
grief which he had no right to share. 

Looking about him he saw no trace of any 
one having been astir during the early morn- 
ing; everything appeared to be in its accus- 


THE MISSING GIRL. 


63 


tomed place, while a death-like stillness 
prevailed, and without hesitation he slowly 
proceeded to the inner room which he knew 
to be the sleeping room of the old gardener. 
As he opened the door and looked in, his 
worst fears were realized; and his heart 
almost ceased to beat, for there, stretched 
upon a rude couch, he gazed upon the stiff, 
inanimate form of old Michael. 

Approaching the lifeless body, which bore 
unmistakable evidence of having been dead 
for some hours, his curiosity was excited by 
the discovery that the thin, bony hands grasped 
an open letter or memorandum crumpled and 
yellow with age. With trembling fingers he 
took the paper from the cold, unresisting 
hand, and staggering to the farther end of 
the room seated himself and began eagerly 
to peruse it. 

The face of Arthur Fairchild was a study 
as he hurriedly devoured the contents of this 
strange document, each line of which revealed 
a long-hidden secret that death alone had dis- 
closed. With blanched cheek and bated 


64 


Margie’s mistake. 


breath he carefully folded the mysterious 
paper, and placing it in an inside pocket, 
prepared to leave the spot that had once 
been the abiding place of her whose where- 
abouts he was determined to ascertain, though 
the search should be of endless duration. 

A iewing the matter from his own stand- 
point, he felt that he alone was entitled to 
the secret that was imparted to him in this 
strange manner, and with a hurried glance at 
the face of the dead he passed out of the 
room closing and bolting the door behind 
him. With rapid footsteps he hastened to 
his father’s home, where he acquainted the 
family of the finding of old Michael’s body 
and the disappearance of the girl. 

A sympathetic chord was touched in the 
hearts of Captain and Mrs. Fairchild, as they 
eagerly listened to the son’s narrative and 
learned of the sudden taking oif of the faith- 
ful old gardener, and many were the con- 
jectures as to what had become of the girl. 

It was soon noised abroad, however, that 
JMargie had fied some days previous to the 


THE MISSING GIRL. 


65 


death of her father, and it was conceded 
that her mysterious disappearance was in 
some measure the cause of old Michael’s sud- 
den demise. 

With becoming solemnity the simple obse- 
quies were performed, and the earthly 
remains of the faithful old servant were laid 
to rest in the village churchyard. 

The unhappy frame of mind into which 
Arthur had fallen was easily accounted for 
by the father and mother, as a fitting sequel 
to the unfortunate termination of his ajfaire 
iVamour with Miss DuPere, consequently 
he was not questioned in regard to his 
despondency, but rather allowed the enjoy- 
ment which he apparently derived from 
undisturbed communion with his own 
thoughts. 

Those who have suffered like disappoint- 
ments know, that in the springtime of life 
such wounds heal quickly, providing the 
proper remedies are applied; hence, little 
fear was indulged that Arthur would 
not soon recover from the wound in- 


66 


maugie’s mistake. 


flictecl by Blanche DuPere’s refusal of his 
hand. 

Impelled by growing curiosity and the 
irresistible passion that was burning in his 
heart with increasing fervor, Arthur endeav- 
ored by such means as he possessed to ascer- 
tain when and where Margie was last seen, 
and to learn if possible whether she had con- 
fided the cause of her rash act to any of her 
associates. 

All efforts in this direction were unavail- 
ing, and with a sad and* heavy heart the 
grief-stricken young man recalled the last 
interview with his betrothed, when with 
child-like faith and trust she had eagerly 
listened to his avowals of love and constancy. 
How readily she had submitted herself to 
his guidance! And then, as if to fortify him- 
self against the demoralizing doubts and 
fears that at times took possession of 
him, he quietly unfolded and re-read the 
mysterious letter which served as a stimulus 
to future action; for within those lines he 
found a balm for his inexpressible anguish — 


THE MISSING GIRL. 


67 


a sweet hope, that should he succeed in find- 
ing his lost treasure, all objections to his 
union with one of such humble origin would 
be easily overcome, and yet he trembled 
with fearful apprehension as he clung to this 
yellow bit of parchment so hallowed by asso- 
ciations. 


CHAPTER VII. 


IN THE CARLTON HOME. 

Mrs. Carlton sat in her cozy boudoir one 
afternoon, leisurely perusing the columns of 
a daily paper. 

“ I have been scanning the numerous adver- 
tisements in today’s paper in the hope of 
finding something of a satisfactory nature in 
the line of housemaids,” said that lady to 
her husband, who had just entered the room. 

“And with what success? my dear,” 
responded kind Mr. Carlton, as he tenderly 
embraced his wife, whose sweet, pathetic face 
he always declared reminded him of the 
“ Sistine Madonna.” 

“ Rather discouraging I must confess, as I 
find none with references, so I am about 
determined to engage the young person who 
applied here yesterday for a situation. She 
appeared like a nice honest girl, yet I dislike 
to take a domestic into my service without 


68 


IN THE CARLTON HOME. 

some knowledge of their capability, dispo- 
sition and general character; but then one 
can never be certain what attributes they 
possess until they have been put to the test.” 

‘‘Where and when are you to have an 
interview with the young person referred 
to?” questioned the husband, as donning 
dressing-gown and slippers he seated himself 
in his easy chair. 

“ She promised to return this afternoon or 
evening for an answer, and if 1 am any judge 
of human nature she will keep her word, for 
her face bore the impress of truthfulness and 
sincerity.” 

“ Well, my dear, I hope and trust that 
your ability to read servant girls at sight 
may not prove a delusion, but I am slightly 
incredulous, you know.” 

“But there she is now, coming through 
the gate, you dear, doubting Thomas,” 
laughingly interrupted Mrs. Carlton; “so 
please excuse me while I go and have a talk 
with her.” 

After a brief absence Mrs. Carlton returned 


70 


Margie’s mistake. 


to the library with the pleasing intelligence 
that the preliminaries were all arranged satis- 
factorily and she believed she had succeeded 
in finding a suitable addition to her house- 
hold, and one that would prove herself 
worthy of respect and confidence, “ for,’’ said 
she to her husband persuasively, “ this young 
girl seems more suitable for a lady’s com- 
panion than for common domestic service.” 

“Be not over-confident, my good wife,” 
rejoined the husband, whose past experience 
prohibited the possibility of his sharing his 
wife’s enthusiasm; “ still let us hope she may 
be capable of rendering the service of which 
you stand so greatly in need.” 

So sayings the husband and wife settled 
themselves for a quiet evening, each in turn 
reading to the other from some of their 
favorite authors. Mrs. Carlton was a beauti- 
ful woman, scarcely past middle age, slight 
and graceful of figure, with an abundance of 
pale-broAvn hair, the silvery threads of which, 
together with the fixed lines about the mouth 
and the sad, far-away look in the large dark 


IN THE CARLTON HOME. 


71 


eyes, revealed a tale of mental suffering'that 
time had failed to wholly obliterate. Resig- 
nation is not forgetfulness, and were we per- 
mitted to wander in the garden of the heart 
we might find many rare and tender flowers 
which long since would have withered, faded 
and vanished from sight, were they not 
moistened by the dews of unshed tears. 
What a kind provision of nature that we are 
forbidden to draw aside the veil of the future, 
or live over beyond a certain limit, the half- 
forgotten miseries of the past! 

The quiet and well-regulated household of 
the Carltons was made none the less attrac- 
tive by the advent of the new domestic, if 
so she may be called, for in reality she was 
a gentle, winsome creature, who, while at the 
outset performed the menial service of maid 
of all work, soon proved herself worthy a 
more exalted position, and although ever 
willing to assist in any of the household 
duties, was in truth my “ lady’s maid.” 
Even good Mr. Carlton was compelled to 
admit that the unerring womanly instinct of 


72 


Margie’s mistake. 


his estimable wife was able to discover hid- 
den virtues in strange young women which 
were veiled from the eye of ordinary mascu- 
linity. 

As time wore away the young girl became 
an important factor in the home of her adop- 
tion. until at last she was regarded as indis- 
pensable to her gentle benefactress, who had 
so kindly given her a home with no knowl- 
edge of her former life, character or con- 
dition. 

As Mr. Carlton entered the library one 
bright afternoon, he found his wife eagerly 
devouring the contents of an open letter 
which she held in her hand. 

“ W ell, well, husband mine, what do you 
think has happened to our old friends, the 
DuPeres?” 

The gentlemen thus addressed declared his 
inefficiency in the art of mind-reading, and 
anxiously awaited an explanation of this 
unusual enthusiasm on the part of his digni- 
fied wife. 

“Well, then, listen; here is a letter from 


IN THE CARLTON HOME. 


73 


Mrs. DuPere, in which she informs us of the 
fact that Blanche is to be married to a Mr. 
Mortimer — Ralph Mortimer — an old friend 
of the family, and will sail for Europe soon 
after. The wedding is to take place on the 
third of next month, and we are bidden to 
participate in celebrating the event. There’s 
no end to the preparations that are being 
made to give the young heiress a becoming 
send off such as the occasion demands.” 

“Ralph Mortimer?” So then Blanche 
failed to capture the handsome son of that 
Captain Fairchild, whom everybody knows 
was her father’s choice, and supposedly hers 
as well. Aha! we must not count too surely 
on catching the rabbit because the hounds 
are after him,” laughingly rejoined the hus- 
band. 

“Yes, no doubt they desired at one time 
that she should wed young Fairchild; in fact, 
rumor has it that the visit they paid them 
last summer was expressly for the purpose of 
throwing the young people together. Well, 
Blanche is a beautiful and accomplished 


74 


Margie’s mistake. 


young lady, and I hope this union may bring 
peace and happiness in its train;” sighed the 
good wife, as a shade of sadness clouded her 
sweet, pale face, and she brushed away the 
silent tear which a retrospective view of her 
own girlhood and early married life was sure 
to produce. 

While Mr. and Mrs. Carlton were discus- 
sing the approaching marriage of the daughter 
of their old friend, they were wholly uncon- 
scious of the presence of a third party, who 
had become an unwilling listener to their 
conversation. Entering the library unob- 
served through the half-open door, a young 
girl timidly awaited an opportunity to address 
a few words to her indulgent mistress. At 
the mention of young Fairchild’s name, in 
connection with that of Miss DuPere, she 
suddenly turned pale, and with a low, half 
suppressed moan, fled from the room. The 
other occupants being deeply engrossed in 
contemplation of the coming event gave no 
heed to the sound of retreating footsteps as 
they hurried along the corridor leading to 


IN THE CARLTON HOME. 


75 


the servants’ apartment. What was the sur- 
prise of Mrs. Carlton, a few hours later, 
when upon being hastily summoned to the 
little room occupied by her maid, to find the 
latter stretched upon her bed in a state of 
mental excitement bordering on delirium. 

All night she lay moaning and tossing from 
side to side, muttering incoherently, and 
apparently unconscious that kind friends were 
ministering to her every need, and anxiously 
awaiting the return of reason, taking advan- 
tage of the few lucid moments in which to 
question her as to the cause of her sudden 
illness. No satisfactory answer was given, 
and at the approach of early dawn a physician 
was called who pronounced the malady brain 
fever. 

For several weeks Mrs. Carlton was unre- 
mitting in her endeavors to nurse the sick 
girl back to life. During the long watches 
of the night she sat by her bedside, tenderly 
holding the little burning hands of the suf- 
ferer, for whom she cherished almost a 
maternal regard; for the helpless condition of 


76 


Margie’s mistake. 


this poor friendless girl had awakened in her 
benefactress all the sweet feminine instincts 
which characterize a true and noble woman. 

Nearly two months had elapsed and the 
chill winds of November gave warning of the 
near approach of winter. The crisis had 
passed, and as the good Doctor came to pay 
his accustomed visit, he was able to assure 
Mrs. Carlton that her little charge had passed 
the period of danger and could now be pro- 
nounced upon the highway of recovery. 

‘‘But,” said he, by way of compliment, 
“ she owes her life to your untiring care and 
devotion, rather than to my skill, for I had 
exhausted all the resources known to my pro- 
fession and was simply letting nature and 
your ministration do the rest.” 

“Well, Doctor,” blushingly replied Mrs. 
Carlton, “ we care not to whom is awarded 
the praise, since the life of our patient is 
spared, but since you are too modest to share 
the honors with me, let us attribute the cure 
to the unerring hand of Providence, for 
surely I feel that my share in the good work 


IN THE CARLTON HOME. 


77 


deserves but little credit, since motives of a 
selfish nature prompted my every act. I 
have become quite dependent upon this 
young girl, whose place in my heart and 
home could not well be filled by another, and 
now, since I came so near losing her, shall 
attach more value to her many excellent 
qualities than ever before.” 

Listening to their kind words of praise 
offered in her behalf, a sweet wistful expres- 
sion came over the countenance of the invalid, 
and with a weary, half-sickly smile, she 
turned her face away, gazing off at the far- 
away hills already whitened with early snow, 
as if unwilling to recall an experience, the 
remembrance of which filled her soul with 
horror. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


A VISITOR. 

It was the night before Christmas. Out- 
side a blinding storm was raging with una- 
bated fury. The wind blew with terrific force 
against the closely-barred shutters, sweeping 
along in fitful gusts through the thick branches 
of the tall, leafless trees, which were writhing 
and twisting as if being tortured into submis- 
sion by the relentless hand of the storm king. 
The wildness of the scene without gave all 
the more warmth and glow to the cheerful 
blaze of the traditional yule-log that lay 
across the carefully polished andirons, stand- 
ing like night sentinels on either side of 
the broad, old-fashioned fireplace. 

“ What a fearful tempest we are having 
on this Christmas Eve! and it seems to 
be increasing every moment,” remarked 
Mrs. Carlton, as she listened to the shriek- 
ing blast, which caused an involuntary 


78 


A VISITOR. 


79 


shudder; and, gathering her bright knitted 
shawl about her shoulders, she drew near the 
fire. 

In response to her ring a servant entered, 
when she ordered tea served in the library. 
Scarcely had she given the command when a 
loud peal at the door-bell arrested her atten- 
tion, and fearing the inclemency of the 
weather had driven some belated wayfarer 
to seek shelter beneath her roof, she obeyed 
the summons in person, rather than subject 
the unknown visitor to the tardiness of a 
domestic. 

Hastily opening the door, she stood face 
to face with a tall figure clad in a rich fur 
coat and mufiled so closely about the head 
and face as to reveal only a pair of eager 
eyes, which peered through the darkness at 
the bright firelight within. 

“Pardon my intrusion,” said a deep, rich 
voice, “ but may I ask if Major Carlton lives 
here?” 

An affirmative reply brought a smile of 
satisfaction to the face of the stranger, as he 


80 


Margie’s mistake. 


hesitated, apparently awaiting an invitation 
to enter. Only too glad of the opportunity 
afforded to offer hospitality on such a rough, 
boisterous night, Mrs. Carlton kindly bade 
him come in. 

Shaking the snow from his outer gar- 
ments, he obeyed with alacrity, after having 
deposited his superfluous wrappings upon 
the hall table. Quickly entering the neatly- 
furnished apartments, he walked directly to 
the wide-open flreplace, where he stood rub- 
bing his hands together gleefully, as he held 
them over the bright-glowing blaze. 

Bidding him be seated, Mrs. Carlton 
repaired to an adjacent room, in quest of her 
husband, to whom she announced the arrival 
of the unknown guest. Hastening to the 
room, followed by his good wife, Mr. Carlton 
was surprised as well as delighted to meet 
the son of an old and valued friend whom he 
had not seen for many years. 

After a cordial greeting, the kind host 
turned abruptly to his wife, and laughingly 
asked if she had no word of welcome for one 


A VISITOR. 


81 


who had braved the fury of the elements in 
order to give them the unexpected pleasure 
of meeting an old acquaintance. 

“Pardon my stupidity, and seeming lack 
of hospitality,” blushingly replied Mrs. Carl- 
ton; “ but 1 must plead guilty to the inexcus- 
able ignorance of not knowing to whom we 
are indebted for the honor of this visit.” 

“Indeed, 1 see that you do not recognize 
our visitor,” responded the husband, “so 
please allow me to introduce Mr. Arthur 
Fairchild, whom you met many years ago, 
while on a brief visit at the home of Capt. 
Fairchild. Perhaps it is only fair to add 
that, were it not for the striking resemblance 
between father and son, I should hardly have 
recognized him myself.” 

An interchange of greetings followed, 
after which the kind hostess, ever mindful 
of the comfort of her guests, hastened to see 
that a few substantials were added to the 
simple repast already ordered. The brief 
delay caused by this slight change in the 
menu was hardly noticeable, so agreeably 


82 


Margie’s mistake. 


was the time passed in friendly conversa- 
tion. 

The welcome sound of approaching foot- 
steps announced the fact that the refresh- 
ments were forthcoming, when at the same 
time a slight young girl appeared, bearing a 
large tray laden with sweet home-made bread, 
honey, waffles and cold meats. A tiny tea- 
pot, snugly ensconced in a little old-fashioned 
tea-cosey, completed the lay-out, and as Mrs. 
Carlton arose to receive the tempting viands, 
she was startled by the death-like pallor 
that mantled the face of the half-fainting girl. 

With a wild, frightened stare, she stood 
there like a marble statue, while her pale, 
trembling lips refused to utter the mute 
appeal directed toward their distinguished 
guest. A quick meaning glance passed 
between husband and wife as they looked 
inquiringly from one to the other. 

All unconscious of the significance of this 
strange pantomime, the young man was the 
first to break the painful silence that ensued, 
and rising to his feet he slowly walked to 


A VISITOR. 


83 


the shrinking form of the half-prostrate girl, 
who was clinging to the arm of a chair for 
support. 

Extending his hand, which she refused to 
accept, he exclaimed: “My mission is ended! 
I have found her at last!” “ Margie,” he 
continued, in a low, husky voice, “ have you 
no word of welcome for me? Speak, I 
beseech you!” 

She raised her eyes to his, with a vacant, 
meaningless stare, but her pallid lips made 
no response. 

“Speak to me, Margie,” he pleaded, I can 
endure your silence no longer.” 

With a sudden start, she sprang to her 
feet, and casting an appealing glance at her 
kind benefactress, as if imploring her con- 
fidence and protection, uttered a low cry, as 
she rushed from the room. 

The young man made a quick, involuntary 
movement, as if to follow her, when Mr. 
Carlton stepped forth and placed his hand 
gently upon his shoulder, begging him to be 
seated. 


84 


Margie’s mistake. 


He dropped into a chair, and burying his 
face in his hands, remained motionless for 
several moments; then, as he suddenly 
awakened to a realizing sense of the awk- 
ward position in which he was thrown, he 
summoned courage to speak. 

Rising to his feet, he drew up his tall, 
manly figure to its full height, and folding 
his arms across his breast, attempted to 
make a fitting apology for his strange 
behavior. 

Mr. Carlton,” he began, “ as a friend of 
my father, I beg that you will pardon this 
seemingly unwarranted invasion upon your 
home circle; and, believe me, that however 
much I have merited your reproach, I am 
none the less a man of honor, and do not 
deserve the censure that this strange scene 
might justify. When you are made aware 
of the importance of my errand here; when 
my motives are stripped of the dark mystery 
that enshroud them, 1 shall not appear the 
guilty culprit that my conduct, and that of 
the innocent, guileless girl, who is doubtless 


A VISITOR. 


85 


this moment sharing my ignominy, would 
lead you to believe. The unparalleled scene, 
which you and your good wife have just 
witnessed, should be explained without 
delay, but my emotions are beyond my 
control at this moment, and I most hum- 
bly beg that you will excuse me from 
entering upon a subject, the details of 
which overwhelm me with anxiety, fear and 
dismay.” 

Calm yourself, my young friend,” replied 
Mr. Carlton, in a trembling voice, ‘‘and allow 
me to assure you that, deeply as 1 deplore 
the necessity which compels me to regard 
your conduct with grave suspicion, I shall 
reserve my verdict until such time as you 
shall see fit to honor me with your entire con- 
fidence. That this friendless girl should have 
been subjected to treatment at your hands, 
unbecoming a gentleman, and unworthy 
the son of my old-time friend, seems incredi- 
ble; yet, the extraordinary scene that has 
just been enacted, leads me to fear that * 
somewhere, hidden beneath this dark mys- 


86 


Margie’s mistake. 


tery, lurks an evil for which there should be 
speedy atonement.” 

“My dear sir,” began the youth, as he 
stood with blanched cheek and quivering lip, 
“your generosity is only equaled by my 
sense of humiliation, but knowing that a 
kindly hearing of my simple story will free 
me from censure, and convert your justly- 
founded suspicion into respect and sympathy, 
I submit to the reproach which your words 
imply, and with your permission will take 
leave of yourself and your good wife until 
such time as I may be able to prove myself 
worthy of your respect and esteem.” 

Mr. Carlton was deeply moved at having 
thus wounded the feelings of his guest, and 
begged to recall any undue severity which 
might have betrayed itself in the first flush 
of excitement; but at the same time, feeling 
that the unusual experience through which 
he had passed was in itself sufficient cause to 
warrant the rebuke which his words had 
implied. 

“My dear young friend,” replied Mr. 


A VISITOR. 


87 


Carlton, I cannot allow you to quit my fire- 
side upon such a wild, boisterous night as 
this, and believe me when I say that, how- 
ever much appearances may be against you, 
I am in no wise dispQsed to brand you as a 
criminal before I have heard your argument 
in self-defense.” 

“ Thank you! thank you!” cried the youth, 
eagerly, as he grasped the proffered hand of 
his kind-hearted host, which he warmly 
pressed, adding in a tone of deep humility, as 
he looked him squarely in the face, unflinch- 
ingly, “ That you should regard me with 
suspicions of the gravest nature is but natural 
under the circumstances, but allow me to 
assure you, sir, that I have been guilty of 
nothing whatever that should merit your dis- 
pleasure, much less your contempt, and ere 
the setting of tomorrow’s sun you shall be 
acquainted with facts which will raise the 
dark cloud of doubt and suspicion which now 
envelopes me.” 

The earnest words thus uttered inspired a 
certain degree of confidence in the mind of 


Margie’s mistake. 


the listener, and with a few reassuring 
remarks on the part of the host, the two 
separated for the night, the young man gladly 
seeking the much needed rest which weary 
nature demanded. ^ 

Mrs. Carlton had quitted the room soon 
after Margie had taken her departure, going 
to the sleeping apartment of the latter, whom 
she found in a state of mind truly alarming. 
She deemed it a sac; ed duty to ascertain the 
cause of the strange emotion which betrayed 
itself the moment the unfortunate girl was 
brought in contact with young Fairchild, and 
with true womanly delicacy she began adroitly 
to question her as to the manner in w^hich she 
had made the acquaintance of the young 
man, and what had been the nature of their 
former relations. 

The poor girl lay in a half-unconscious 
state, moaning pitiously as she tossed about, 
muttering a few incoherent words which were 
anything but satisfactory to her kind bene- 
factress. Suddenly unclosing her eyes she 
sat upright on the bed, and burying her face 


A VISITOR. 


89 


in her hands, rocked to and fro in a state of 
intense excitement, while burning tears 
trickled through her clenched fingers. 

“ Oh, why did he follow me here, to perse- 
cute and torment me, when I was trying to 
forget the bitterness of the past!” sobbed the 
girl, as if communing with her own unhappy 
thoughts. ‘‘My dear Mrs. Carlton,” she 
continued, addressing herself directly to 
that lady, “ I am innocent of any evil 
either in word, thought or deed, but this 
man has ruined my life and driven me to 
despair.” 

“Margie, my poor child, tell me the story 
of your cruel wrongs. Can you not confide 
in me? I shall defend and protect you from 
all harm, whatever your past history may 
reveal, for I believe you have been sinned 
against; but speak, child, and tell me what 
this all means.” 

“Oh, I can’t! I can’t!” replied the 
blushing girl, unable to bear the humiliat- 
ing confession which she was half per- 
suaded to make. “Tomorrow — some other 


90 


MARGIES MISTAKE. 


time — when I can collect my senses, 1 will 
tell yon all, but not now — not now!” 

vSeeing the excitement under which the girl 
was laboring, and the agony which her words 
inflicted, Mrs. Carlton refrained from farther 
‘ questioning, and with soothing words and 
gentle caresses succeeded in quieting the 
girl, whom she kissed affectionately as she 
bade her a kindly good-night, telling her to 
be hopeful and seek to bury her sorrows in 
the sweet knowledge of her own innocence. 
I Going directly to the library she found her 
husband pacing up and down the room in a 
state of great agitation. 

“ I hardly know what to think of this per- 
plexing business,” said he, as he endeavored 
to appear calm in the presence of his wife, 
“ but to say that it places me in a painfully 
embarrassing position but feebly expresses it.” 

“Well,” rejoined the latter, “there is a 
deep mystery connected with this very 
unhappy affair, which I fear when cleared 
away will place Mr. Fairchild in a rather 
unenviable light. Margie has unquestionably 


A VISITOR. 


91 


suffered a cruel grievance at the hands of 
this man, and the least we can do is to 
sift the matter to the very foundation, let the 
guilt fall upon whom it may. Her extreme 
youth and utter helplessness appeal strongly 
to my sympathies, and I can only hope and 
pray that my worst fears may prove ground- 
less.” 

‘‘ I know that appearances are very much 
against him,” remarked the husband, and 
yet, he protests his innocence in such emphatic 
terms that I am constrained to trust in his 
honor as a gentleman, until such time as I 
am convinced that my confidence has been 
abused.” 

The subject continued to be discussed until 
the lateness of the hour admonished them to 
seek repose, preparatory to the interview 
which was promised on the morrow. 


CHAPTER IX. 

ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 

It was Christmas Day. The storm of the 
preceding night had subsided, and the cold, 
steel-blue of the morning sky broke through 
the fitful clouds that were giving way to 
admit the rays of sunlight which were strug- 
gling for supremacy. 

Arthur awakened with a violent headache. 
Attempting to rise he fell back upon the pil- 
low, exhausted, but summoning strength he 
slowly proceeded to dress himself. His 
simple toilet completed, he glanced at the 
mirror which revealed a pale, earnest face, 
unclouded by the dark phantoms of shame or 
remorse. Listening to the sound of foot- 
steps moving about, he drew aside the cur- 
tains and looked out, realizing that he had 
slept far into the morning hours. 

After some hesitation, he slowly descended 
the winding staircase, and passing through 


92 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


93 


a long hall, entered the family sitting- 
room. 

Mr. Carlton arose and extended his hand 
in friendly salutation, which the young man 
eagerly grasped as a token of reconciliation 
and restored confidence. As the two sat 
conversing upon commonplace topics, Mrs, 
Carlton entered the room, and after passing 
the compliments of the day, announced to 
her husband that breakfast was waiting. 

Her manner was somewhat cool and digni- 
fied, as she quietly led the way to the little 
breakfast-room, where the three sat down to 
a daintily-spread table, illy disguising the 
fact that a feeling of unrest was prevalent, 
yet manifesting a mutual desire to avoid any 
allusion to the cause. 

Arthur was conscious that his presence 
was imposing restraint upon his table com- 
panions, and hastily swallowing a few mouth- 
fuls rose to depart, begging to be excused 
upon the flimsy plea of sudden indisposition. 
Going out upon the veranda he made a few 
rapid turns in the crisp morning air, in the 


94 


Margie’s mistake. 


meantime silently meditating upon the man- 
ner least embarrassing, in which to introduce 
the painful subject which engrossed his every 
thought. 

Suddenly his attention was called to an 
adjacent window, the shutter of which was 
being rudely shaken by the wind. He was 
startled from his reverie by seeing pressed 
closely to the window pane the pale, haggard 
face of the girl who had tied from his presence 
the preceding night, like a hunted deer seek- 
ing refuge from the hand of its would-be 
destroyer. 

With a terrified look she withdrew from 
the window, leaving the young man immov- 
ably fixed with a steadfast gaze in the direc- 
tion of her hiding-place. Her sudden dis- 
appearance revealed the fact that she was 
still resolute in her determination to avoid 
meeting him, and, goaded to desperation by 
this cruel treatment from the girl he so 
madly loved, he resolved to ascertain with- 
out further delay the cause of this incompre- 
hensible state of affairs. 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


95 


Hastily entering the room occupied by 
Mr. and Mrs. Carlton, who had been con- 
versing] together in a low voice, Arthur 
abruptly demanded that Margie be sum- 
moned to their presence at once, announcing 
in a brief manner his readiness to make a 
voluntary statement of the cause which made 
him an unwelcome guest under their roof. 

Mrs. Carlton demurred slightly at this 
unexpected proposition to have Margie 
brought into the presence of the young man, 
pleading for excuse her extreme sensitive- 
ness and peculiar nervous condition; but 
Arthur was obdurate and declared his inten- 
tion to at once take measure to vindicate his 
honor and remove the unjust suspicions 
which had sullied his heretofore stainless 
reputation. 

Mr. Carlton’s keen sense of justice led him 
to act as champion to one whom he believed 
to be guiltless of any willful transgression 
against the girl; hence, with quiet dignity 
he assured his wife that Mr. Fairchild’s 
request was but natural under the circum- 


96 


Margie's mistake. 


stances, and although she was doubtless 
unfitted for such a trying ordeal, he thought 
that justice to all demanded that she could 
be allowed the opportunity to defend herself 
by denying or affirming, as the case might be, 
the truth of what Arthur had to say. 

Mrs. Carlton accepted the situation with- 
out further hesitancy and went herself in 
quest of the object of her kind solicitude. 

A few moments delay brought Margie, 
pale and trembling into the presence she so 
much dreaded, and with down-cast eyes she 
seated herself close beside Mrs. Carlton to 
whose hand she clung with childlike faith in 
this supreme moment of her life. Arthur 
gazed in pity, mingled with admiration at 
the shrinking form of the frightened girl, 
who in return raised her tear-stained eyes to 
his with an appealing look which caused a 
bright crimson flush to spread over his dark 
determined face. Rising to his feet in defer- 
ence to the new arrivals he summoned 
strength to begin the strange story with 
which the reader is already acquainted. 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


97 


He opened the subject by a brief narration 
of the simple relations which had long 
existed between his family and the father of 
the young girl. His earnest manner inten- 
sified as he passed from one incident to 
another in rapid succession, relating in as 
brief terms as possible the few uninteresting 
details of his life at college, which necessi- 
tated his absence from home for some years; 
of his return to the parental roof, and his 
father’s kind indulgence and subsequent 
anxiety for his welfare and success in life; 
and finally of the sentiment which he had 
cherished for the old gardener’s daughter, 
adding that he was fully aware what the 
world would say and that his parents would 
naturally regard such a union as undesirable, 
but that so-called unequal matches were not 
an uncommon thing, and that for himself he 
felt that it was a subject of self-congratula- 
tion that he had been so fortunate as to gain 
the priceless treasure of a true woman’s love. 

A brief pause ensued, in which Mrs. Carl- 
ton ventured to ask if he felt that it was 


98 


Margie's mistake. 


quite right to awaken feelings in the heart 
of an innocent, susceptible girl, which in all 
human probability she would never realize. 

“That depends upon circumstances,” he 
answered, flushing to the very roots of his 
hair. “And why not be realized? I claim 
the privilege of indulging my own taste and 
inclination in the matter of choosing a wife, 
and if I prefer a sweet, pure girl of humble 
origin, to a soulless, capricious butterfly of 
the world, I think my good taste should be 
considered above criticism. 

“ I loved this girl with all the strength of 
vigorous manhood. I love her still, and in 
seeking to find her as I have done, alone and 
unaided for the past three months, I 
was actuated by the purest of motives, 
together with the unalterable purpose to 
ascertain, if possible, the cause of her 
sudden flight, after having accepted the 
avowed passion of one who offered her the 
homage of a true, manly heart, and gave her 
a place in his affections which I aver belong 
to her and none other. Strange as it may 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


99 


seem, I unbliishingly confess that this girl 
inspired a sentiment in my heart which had 
lain dormant until awakened by the magic 
power that rules the destiny of all mankind. 

‘‘After having followed various clues to 
her whereabouts, all of which only resulted 
in disappointment, I accidently learned that 
a young woman answering her description 
was staying in this immediate neighborhood, 
and upon my arrival here, found no difficulty 
in locating the object of my search. 

“I am* here with the avowed purpose of 
unravelling this mysterious affair from begin- 
ning to end, and am shocked and grieved to 
find that my laudable efforts have met 
with illy concealed suspicion and unmerited 
reproach. I am now ready to meet any and 
all charges detrimental to the honor of a gen- 
tleman, and wish to say that my former rela- 
tions with this girl are open to investigation.” 

Having thus delivered himself, he stood 
wiping the beads of perspiration from his 
brow, awaiting any accusation which might 
be brought against him. Mr. and Mrs. Carl- 


100 maegie’s mistake. 

ton looked at each other inquiringly, and 
then all eyes were centered upon the young 
girl, who, with downcast eyes, sat very stilly 
never having changed her position during 
the time that young Fairchild was speaking. 

Mrs. Carlton was the first to break the awk- 
ward silence, and in a firm but gentle voice 
requested Margie to make a statement of her 
case, providing she had anything to say. 

The girl gave a sudden start, as if awaken- 
ing from a dream, and looking from one to 
the other, buried her face in her hands, and 
gave way to a violent fit of weeping. For 
several moments her slight figure swayed 
back and forth, while her sobs were loud and 
convulsive. Then she became more calm 
and brushing away her tears sat motionless 
as if in deep thought. 

“Do not, from a mistaken sense of duty, 
seek to conceal anything,” enjoined the 
young man, “but whatever revelation you 
have to make let it be made at once, for any 
attempt to prevaricate will be worse than 
madness. I have endeavored to draw the 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


101 


sketch as true to nature as possible and am 
waiting for you to throw in the lights and 
shadows in order to complete the picture.” 

When he had finished speaking, Margie, 
with a strong effort at self-control , gathered 
courage to respond and in a voice choked 
with emotion, she said: 

“Mr. Fairchild, all that you have said is 
undoubtedly true, save the fact that you ever 
cherished one thought for me other than that 
of sympathy for my wretched weakness in 
believing that the son of Captain Fairchild 
could love the daughter of his father’s 
gardener. I was a poor, friendless, mother- 
less girl, unaccustomed to the ways of grand 
people, and would to heaven that I had ever 
remained so; but when you offered me kind- 
ness, sympathy and love, I could not find it 
in my heart to refuse such coveted blessings. 

“I believed you, and trusted you, blind 
foolish child that I was, until you gave me 
proof of your faithlessness and treachery. 
Not until I heard you with my own ears 
declare your love for the beautiful Miss 


102 


Margie’s mistake. 


DuPere, and saw you kneeling at her proud 
feet, imploring her to accept the place in 
your heart which you had already sworn was 
mine, did I realize how dear you were to me; 
but when I could no longer doubt that T was 
cast aside like a broken toy; that all your 
vows of love for me were but false, cruel 
mockery; that I was simply the object of 
yo-ur caprice, it was then that my poor heart 
turned to stone and with vengeance in 
my soul, I left my humble home and dear 
old father, rather than ever set my eyes upon 
your false face again. 

“ I left all and fled from the scenes which 
would ever have haunted me with the bitter 
recollection that I was the object of your 
scorn and rid.cule. This I could not 
endure, and now that 1 have found shelter 
beneath the roof of these kind friends I beg 
you to leave me in my humiliation, and do 
not torture me beyond what I can bear. 

“ The truthfulness of my statement you 
will hardly deny, as my proof is abundant, 
as you are aware, so please allow me to leave 


AETHUR EXPLAINS. 


103 


your presence, as I have nothing further to 
gay in defense of my conduct or in your juS' 
tification.” 

With a look of calm forbearance she arose 
to depart, when Arthur sprang to her side, 
and gathering her in his arms, while his 
whole frame shook with happy emotion, he 
imprinted a hearty kiss upon her trembling 
lips. AVith a cry of resentment she strug- 
gled to extricate herself, while Mr. and Mrs. 
Carlton stood in mute astonishment, scarcely 
knowing what was the proper course for 
them to pursue under such extraordinary 
circumstances. 

Arthur was happy and exultant in the 
thought that a brief explanation would clear 
away the misapprehension which had inflicted 
so much pain upon the misguided girl, and 
trusted his own powers of eloquence to estab- 
lish his complete vindication and ’exonerate 
him from the guilt which her truthful words 
would fix upon him. With a smile on his 
face he took her hand, which she withdrew 
instantly, and with gentle firmness bade her 


104 


Margie’s mistake. 


be seated, while he assured Mr. Carlton that 
a grave misunderstanding had subjected him 
to all this unpleasantness. 

Margie,” he asked, eagerly, “ is this all?” 
Is it simply my relation to Miss DuPere that 
has caused all your unhappiness, and forced 
you to abandon the man who offered you 
his life-long devotion, his great, boundless 
love?” 

“All? ” she slowly repeated; “ could there 
be anything worse than to know that your 
vows were false, that you had been so cruel 
and unkind to one whose childish imagina- 
tions had clothed you with all the virtues 
belonging to a noble manhood? Indeed, 
this is all^ and little as it may seem to you, it 
is everything to me, for it has taken all the 
joy out of my life and left me but one thing 
to hope for, and that is an early death.” 

Haviifg thus answered him, she again 
gave way to an uncontrollable fit of weep- 
ing, w^hile Mrs. Carlton endeavored to calm 
and console her with kind words of love and 
sympathy, assuring her that she was laboring 


AKTHUR EXPLAINS. 


105 


under some fearful misapprehension, which 
she felt convinced Mr. Fairchild could satis- 
factorily explain. When her paroxysm of 
grief had subsided, Arthur gave her a look 
of entreaty, earnestly begging that she would 
be calm and listen to what he had to say. 

‘^Margie, my dear girl,” he continued, 
‘‘will you believe what I am about to relate? 
If not, then she who was Miss DuPere will 
be called upon to add her testimony in cor- 
roboration of the truthfulness of my state- 
ment. What you witnessed at the time that 
I proposed marriage to Miss DuPere, was 
enough to brand me with infamy and drive 
you to madness; yet, as I recall the circum- 
stance and realize by what motives I was 
actuated, I am constrained to deny the valid- 
ity of circumstantial evidence in whatever 
form it may be presented. 

“It is an indisputable fact, that the par- 
ents of the young lady, as well as those of 
myself, were very desirous that the two 
families should be united through the matri- 
monial alliance of their respective children. 


106 


Margie’s mistake. 


and as Blanche and myself were the only 
possibilities through which such a union 
could be consumated, we were summoned to 
act in accordance with their wishes; but an 
obstruction was encountered at the outset, 
for with characteristic wilfullness we objected 
to being coerced into a relationship which 
was mutually distasteful to both, hence a 
means of escape was a matter of necessity. 

’‘To accomplish this object without doing 
violence to the feelings of our parents was 
our earnest desire. Accordingly I availed 
myself of the first opportunity to present 
this unfortunate affair to Miss DuPere, with 
the hope that her pure womanly instinct 
might suggest some plan which would satisfy 
the demands of my paternal ancestor, and at 
the same time relieve me from the entangle- 
ment into which I had been irresistibly 
drawn. Miss DuPere never entertained other 
feelings for me than those of ordinary friend- 
ship, while the sentiments I cherished for 
her were purely reciprocal in their nature 
and nothing more. 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


107 


‘‘ At the time to which you refer I had 
sought an opportunity, when undisturbed we 
might discuss the subject, and I would 
acquaint the young lady, if she were not 
already aware, of the existing state of affairs, 
and beg her aid in devising some means to 
put an end to the embarrassment. I found, 
upon broaching the subject, that she too was 
being annoyed by the project aforesaid, for 
be it known at that very time she was 
already engaged to the man whose wife she 
now is, while I was bound by the sacred ties 
of betrothal to wed another. 

“When we had fairly discussed the matter, 
it was Miss DuPere herself who proposed 
that the quickest way to end the whole affair 
was for me to offer myself to her in marriage, 
and that her refusal to accept my proposal 
would afford me the opportunity to truth- 
fully aver that I had complied with my 
father’s wishes, and that my suit had 
been rejected. This would leave me 
free to carry out my avowed purpose, 
which was to marry the girl whom I loved. 


108 


Margie’s mistake. 


no matter what barriers stood in the way. 

“Accordingly, I performed my part in the 
burlesque and received the emphatic refusal 
which I sought. This is the sequel to that 
little piece of deception which I practiced, 
and while it caused much merriment to Miss 
DuPere and myself at the time, it has 
brought much misery as you well know. 
While I deeply regret my foolish act, and its 
sad consequences, I did feel that the end 
would justify the means, and now that Miss 
DuPere is happily married to the man of her 
choice, I shall not hesitate to acquaint my 
parents of the duplicity which I used when 
urged to sue for the hand of a lady in whom 
I had no special interest. I have finished 
my story and await your verdict, for before 
high heaven, I afiirm that what I have 
related is the solemn truth.” 

During the narration of the above, Margie 
sat very quiet, while the hot blood mounted 
to her cheeks at intervals and then receded, 
leaving her pale as a marble statue. As the 
last words died on the young man’s lips, she 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


109 


turned, looked him full in the face, and with 
a low cry sprang toward him, exclaiming 
between laughter and tears: 

‘‘And you never loved Miss DuPere, and 
you meant to fulfill your promise to me, 
and you loved me as you said? Oh, Mr. 
Fairchild, this happiness is more than 1 
deserve — I, who have so cruelly wounded 
you — forgive, forgive!” she sobbed, as she 
rushed into his outstretched arms while he 
in turn covered her lips with passionate 
kisses. 

Mr. and Mrs. Carlton were greatly agitated 
and could hardly comprehend the situation 
all at once, yet both felt relieved at the 
assurance that their suspicions and doubts as 
to the integrity of young Fairchild were 
groundless, and that the unhappy affair had 
terminated in such a pleasant manner. After 
shaking hands and extending congratulations 
to the lovers, they withdrew from the room, 
feeling that their presence might be unde- 
sirable in the first blissful hour of reconcilia- 


no 


Margie’s mistake. 


When Margie had so far recovered herself 
as to be able to collect her thoughts, she 
eagerly asked after her father, whom she had 
almost forgotten in her ecstatic joy. At the 
mention of his name a dark cloud passed 
over Arthur’s face, which betokened evil, 
and suddenly rising he walked to the window 
and looked out, as if seeking to evade a 
direct answer to the apparently perplexing 
question. His strange manner filled the 
young girl with alarm, and hastening to his 
side, she grasped his hands, exclaiming: 

“ What is it? Tell me, pray, at once. Do 
not keep me in suspense!” 

Arthur drew her to him tenderly, endeavor- 
ing to calm her fears by gentle words and 
fond caresses, but she saw that something 
unusual was occupying his mind. 

“ Oh, Arthur!” she cried, ‘‘do not tell me 
that anything has happened to my father!” 

“Be quiet, little girl,” he replied, “and 
we will talk of this later. We must not 
allow one shadow to cloud the happiness of 
this hour.” 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


Ill 


But Margie was importunate in her 
entreaties to know the worst, and insisted 
that he should tell her what mystery he was 
attempting to conceal. 

‘‘Well, then, Margie, let me say that I 
have a strange tale to tell you, the revelation 
of which may cause you great pain, but you 
will not shrink from any sacrifice, however 
great, since you have the strength of my 
devotion to sustain you, will you Margie?” 

“I can endure anything, save the 
knowledge that my inexcusable rashness has 
produced other than temporary grief fo my 
dear old father, for while I felt very keenly 
the great wrong I had done him, I was 
secretly planning to acquaint him of my 
whereabouts without betraying my hiding- 
place to those whom I desired should never 
see my face again.” 

The young man winced under these words, 
but suddenly recalling the provocation which 
inspired them, reproached himself rather 
than his companion, for having unwittingly 
placed himself in a position calculated to 


112 


Margie’s mistake. 


destroy the confidence of the woman he 
loved. 

“ Hush, darling, and let no allusions to the 
past cast its dark shadow over the present; 
let us forget all, in the sweet consciousness 
that an unclouded future lies before us, the 
enjoyment of which nothing can prevent, 
save the hand of the destroying angel.” 

“But my father, Arthur, tell me of my 
father!” pleaded the anxious girl. 

“ Margie, if you are prepared to listen to 
that which it will sooner or later be my sad 
and painful duty to tell you, then we will 
not delay one moment longer, but with your 
permission I desire that your kind benefac- 
tors shall hear what I have to relate, as it is 
meet and right that those who have sheltered 
you in your dark hours of affliction should 
continue to share your joys and sorrows.” 

“ Anything would be preferable to this 
awful suspense,” cried the frightened girl 
with faltering voice, for she was now con. 
fident that some great grief was in store for 
her, and with an elfort at self-control, she 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


113 


calmly awaited the disclosures about to be 
made, which seemed to threaten shipwreck 
to her new-found happiness. 

Summoning Mr. and Mrs. Carlton from 
the adjoining room, Arthur at once pro- 
ceeded to break the sad news as gently as 
possible, by first acquainting Margie with the 
fact that a mystery enshrouded her life that 
could not be solved. 

“ Do not talk to me of mysteries, I 
beseech you!” cried the impatient girl; 

“ but tell me that my father lives, and that I 
may be granted the opportunity to make 
reparation for the cruel wrong I did in 
deserting one who loved me, simply because 
I was too cowardly to bear the sting of being 
deserted by the one I loved.” 

“ Margie, you ask for the assurance that 
your father lives, but believe me when I tell 
you that I am unable to give you that assur- 
ance, for I do not know to whom belongs the 
proud distinction of being your father.” 

Taking from his pocket the yellow 
crumpled slip of paper, he held it up as evi- 


114 


Margie’s mistake. 


dence of the truthfulness of what he was 
about to relate. 

“That Michael O’Connor was no. kin of 
yours I have positive proof, as this strange 
document will bear witness.” 

With a low moan, Margie’s head fell upon 
her breast, and covering her face with both 
hands she sobbed convulsively. Recovering 
her self-control, she begged him to continue, 
assuring him that she was prepared for any 
revelation he had to make. Mrs. Carlton 
drew the trembling girl closer as she listened 
to the verification of what appeared to rob 
an innocent victim of even her poor birth- 
right. 

Without hesitation Arthur proceeded with 
the information that the paper which he held 
as a living witness of the truth of what he 
was saying was received by himself direct 
from the hand of Michael O’Connor. The 
contents in brief were as follows: 

“When I seated myself and began to 
eagerly peruse this memorandum, imagine 
my surprise when I learned from these few 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


115 


almost illegible lines that the fair young girl 
to whom I was betrothed was not of the 
humble origin which I had supposed, but 
might be, for aught I knew, of ancestry 
superior to my own. This letter reveals the 
fact that many years ago — just how many I 
know not, as it bears no date — but suffice it 
to say that in the early married life of our 
faithful old gardener there came to his hum- 
ble dwelling on a chill November night, a 
frail young woman claiming to be the mother 
of the girl baby whom she held in her arms. 
The young mother begged shelter for the 
night under the hospitable roof of Michael 
O’Connor and his good wife. 

‘‘On the morrow it was discovered that the 
stranger-guest was suffering from a serious 
malady, and upon summoning a physician it 
was ascertained that brain fever had claimed 
her as its victim. In the days of delirium 
which followed, she was faithfully cared for 
by these kind people; but medical skill and 
tender nursing were of no avail, and one 
week from the day on which she sought 


116 


Margie’s mistake 


shelter among strangers for herself and child, 
the spirit took its flight, and the body of an 
unknown woman was laid away in the village 
churchyard. No sorrowing friends were 
there to follow her remains to the silent 
tomb, save old Michael and his kind-hearted 
wife, who had endeavored during the few 
lucid moments of her illness to ascertain 
something of her past history, but nothing 
could be gathered from the dying woman’s 
lips that threw any light upon the subject. 

“Time passed on, and the dimpled girl- 
baby became an important factor in the home 
of her benefactors, who soon grew to love her 
with parental affection, and as no tidings ever 
reached them that would lead to the dis- 
covery of the child’s parentage, they gladly 
adopted the little waif, giving to it the name 
of Margie, which name their own flrst-born 
and only child had borne during the few short 
months of its young life. 

“And so it came to pass that ‘ little Margie ’ 
was known only as ‘the old gardener’s 
daughter.’ This brief outline of the girl’s 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


117 


history had been written down by the wife 
of old Michael and carefully treasured up by 
the simple couple, thinking, no doubt, that 
some day they might learn to whom she 
belonged. Unquestionably they gave as 
little publicity to the matter as possible, in 
the fear that the child would be reclaimed 
and they be robbed, of the one source from 
which they derived their greatest happiness. 

“Upon taking up their abode in the neigh- 
borhood in which my father resided, and 
where a few years later the foster-mother 
died, no one suspected that the little orphan 
was other than the lawful daughter of 
Michael O’Connor; and now while I shrink 
from the details as to the manner in which I 
came in possession of this manuscript, it is, 
nevertheless, my solemn duty to acquaint you 
with all the facts connected with this unhappy 
aifair. 

“ Returning from the bedside of a dying 
friend, where I had been suddenly called 
some two weeks previous, my first thought 
was given to the helpless girl, to whom I had 


118 


Margie's mistake. 


sworn allegiance, and fearful lest my absence 
had caused her needless anxiety, I hastened 
to apologize for my seeming neglect. Arriv- 
ing at my destination I was shocked to 
learn that the object of my solicitude 
had suddenly disappeared, and that all 
eiforts, thus far, had failed to reveal her 
whereabouts. 

‘‘Apprehensive that some great evil had 
befallen her, I began at once to devise some 
means that would enable me to unravel the 
mystery and lead to her recovery. On the 
following day I sought a second interview 
with the father of the missing girl, hoping 
to gather some new facts which might serve 
as a clew to aid me in prosecuting the search 
which I was about to begin. After repeated 
efforts to elicit some response from the sole 
occupant of this homely dwelling, I finally 
entered unbidden, and what was my horror 
and dismay to find there, stretched upon a 
narrow couch, the cold, lifeless body of 
Michael O’Connor, while his icy hand 
clutched this document, which I now sur- 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


119 


render to you, Margie, as a legacy left by 
your foster-father.” 

And here,” said he, taking from his 
pocket a small parcel rolled in tissue paper, 
“ is a portion of an infant’s wardrobe, stained 
and yellow with age, that had been evidently 
wrapped around this precious relic as it lay 
upon the breast of the dead man;” and care- 
fully pinned to the hem of the garment was 
a paper bearing the inscription — “ This is the 
dress worn by our Margie the day she came 
to us.” 

During all this time Margie sat motionless 
as a graven image. Not a sound escaped 
her pallid lips, but with glittering eyes riveted 
upon the young man’s face, she breathlessly 
awaited the conclusion of that strange nar- 
rative, each page of which revealed some 
startling fact in her life’s history that she 
fain would have hidden from mortal eye. 
Not until her attention was called to the tiny 
bit of embroidered muslin, which perchance 
had been fashioned by her own mother’s 
hand, did she seem conscious that a new life 


120 


Margie’s mistake. 


had opened up before her, and that hence- 
forth she must face the world as a nameless 
foundling of doubtful parentage, all of 
which filled her soul with unconquerable 
dread. 

Mrs. Carlton, who had listened with 
marked attention, evidently weighing each 
word as it fell from young Fairchild’s lips, 
now arose, pale and trembling, and with an 
almost superhuman effort at self-control? 
stretched forth her hand in the act of taking 
the garment for closer inspection. A sudden 
movement on the part of Margie interposed, 
and as if all unconscious of the presence of 
her mistress, the young girl seized the article 
from the hands of her lover and burying her 
face in the soft folds burst into a fit of weep- 
ing. 

The copious flow of tears soon brought 
relief to her over-strained nerves, and with 
gentle touch she spread the little gown across 
her knees, carefully smoothing out the 
wrinkles, as she closely examined each seam 
and gather, as if to penetrate the hidden 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


121 


secret which this inanimate hit of fabric 
alone could tell. 

‘‘ Oh, my mother! ray darling mother!” 
sobbed the unhappy girl, “ would that you 
could speak from your sainted home on high 
and clear up the dark mystery that must for- 
ever hang over the wretched life of your 
unfortunate child!” 

Looking at the garment more closely, 
she repeated half to herself, as she held 
the dainty fabric in her trembling fingers^* 

Surely this is line texture, and the em- 
broidery is hand-work, while the soft rich 
lace about the neck and sleeves would indi- 
cate that my mother was not always a penni- 
less outcast, however low and fallen her ulti- 
mate condition may have appeared.” 

Respect for the girl’s sorrow and humilia- 
tion demanded silence on the part of those 
who were called upon to witness the deep 
grief into which a knowledge of her early 
history had thrown her; and as all three 
stood with bowed heads and eyes sulfused 
with tears, they were startled by a low cry 


122 


Margie’s mistake. 


as holding up the cherished relic to the 
light, she exclaimed: 

‘‘Oh, see! Here is a name written in 
indelible ink, but which is well nigh obliter- 
ated; so indistinct has it become that I can 
hardly decipher it, still I can almost spell 
the name, the first letter of which is — is ” 

Before she had time to pronounce the 
words which faltered on her lips, Mrs. Carl- 
ton, unable to control herself longer, grasped 
the arm of the excited girl, and wresting the 
garment from her trembling hands, gazed 
upon the mark with eyes that seemed burst- 
ing from their sockets. As she traced the 

o 

characters which fate had decreed should 
not be entirely bereft of their significance, 
she uttered a piercing shriek and dropping 
the article, as if a deadly asp lay coiled 
wtfhin its folds, fell senseless to the fioor. 

Mr. Carlton rushed to her assistance, and 
raising the inanimate form in his strong 
arms, placed it gently upon a couch, while 
poor Margie, terrified at what she supposed 
to be a fainting fit, or possibly something 


ARTHUK EXPLAINS. 


123 


worse, immediately ran for restoratives, 
which willing hands hastily applied, as each 
and all eagerly w^atched the faint hue of 
returning life that slowly crept over her 
pallid cheek. Mr. Carlton was greatly agi- 
tated, and ere his wife had fully regained 
consciousness was seeking a possible solution 
of the cause that induced this sudden and 
violent paroxysm of grief. Adjusting his 
spectacles he commenced to closely examine 
the bit of muslin whidh had evidently pro- 
duced such a fearful shock to Mrs. Carlton’s 
nerves. For a moment, he stood mute and 
motionless, then with a quick meaning glance 
directed first toward his wife and then at 
Margie, he exclaimed: 

‘‘ Great heaven! what can this mean!” 

Slowly rising to her feet Mrs. Carlton 
paused, and summoning all the strength at 
her command, endeavored to speak, while 
her bosom heaved with passionate emotion. 

‘‘ It means, she said, with an appealing 
look at Margie, who stood pale and breath- 
less, awaiting the crisis which she knew w^as 


124 


Margie’s mistake. 


at hand — “It means that eighteen years ago 
I made that infant’s robe with my own hands, 
and upon the liem I inscribed the name which 
you see written there. It means that this 
fatherless girl is none other than my lost 
darling, whom I have mourned as dead 
through all these dreary years — that a 
mother’s prayer is answered — that the grave 
has given up its dead — that my child whom 
I loved so idolatrously stands before me! 
This little gown was her christening robe, 
and the one worn by her on the day of her 
abduction. To Michael O’Connor I owe this, 
the crowning joy of my life, and to his 
memory I offer a tribute of praise for the 
kindly interest he took in my helpless babe 
when left by the wretched woman who 
made ship-wreck of my life and whose 
fiendish act drove my husband into a mad- 
house!” 

Trembling with emotion, Mrs. Carlton sank 
upon her knees while convulsive sobs shook 
her frail form that was no longer able to 
endure the nervous strain to which it had 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


125 


been subjected. With arms outstretched 
toward Margie, she cried: 

child — my baby Helene! the joy of 
the present hour is only commensurate with 
the unutterable anguish of the past, and may 
each succeeding anniversary of our Savior’s 
birth bring as great happiness to your heart, 
as the developments of this day have brought 
to me!” 

Ere she ceased speaking, Margie lay sob- 
bing on her bosom, wdiile Mr. Carlton and 
his companion drew near each other and in 
low reverential tones whispered the con- 
gratulations which their manly instincts 
prompted. 

A few hours later the happy family sat 
grouped around the blazing fire which spread 
its warmth and glow over each object in the 
room, giving to the rare old bronzes that 
adorned the mantel, the hue of burnished 
gold. Arthur had taken a seat a little remote 
from the other occupants of the room, as if 
a sense of delicacy forbade his intrusion upon 
the sanctity of this happy reunion, and with 


126 


makgie’s mistake. 


folded arms appeared to be in silent com- 
munion with his own thoughts. Suddenly 
arousing himself from this state of apathy 
he cast an appealing look at Mrs. Carlton 
who was pouring into Margie’s listening ears 
the varied experiences incident to the great 
sorrow that overshadowed her early life. 

Rising to his feet, he slowly approached 
his kind hostess, and taking her by the hand, 
asked in a deferential tone if the time-hon- 
ored custom among friends did not warrant 
him in ho2)ing for some token in commemora- 
tion of the day; that inasmuch as he had 
been instrumental in restoring a priceless 
treasure to its rightful ownership, he thought 
it but a simple act of justice that he be 
made the recij^ient of at least a promise that 
in the near future he might claim his reward. 
With an admiring look at Margie, whose 
youthful face was wreathed in smiles and 
blushes, he added: 

^‘And while I avow that the coveted jDrize 
upon which my exacting heart is set shall 
never be obtained save through your acquies- 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


127 


cence and approval, I can but hope and trust 
that no serious obstacle will arise as a bar- 
rier against the consummation of my happi- 
ness. Through a brief conversation with 
ray kind friend, Mr. Carlton, I am made to 
understand that I am now aspiring to the 
hand of an heiress, which, in order to w^in, 
may necessitate renewed elfort on my part; 
but it is with feelings of pride that 1 openly 
declare now and forever that the love which 
I bore the daughter of my father’s gardener 
can never be supplanted even by the match- 
less charms of the beautiful heiress, Miss 
LaGrange.” 

Mrs. Carlton smiled her approbation, as 
she warmly pressed the young man’s hand, 
and wiping away the silent tears which sprang 
unbidden to her eyes, summoned Margie to 
lier side. 

“My daughter,” she began, “this sacrifice 
would be too great were it not for the fact 
that the debt I owe this man for having 
chased away the dark phantom that has 
haunted my life for eighteen years will 


128 


MARGIES M [STAKE. 


admit of no less recompense. His devotion 
to one upon whose birth and parentage rested 
the dark cloud of suspicion, together with 
his willingness to brave the storm of parent- 
al displeasure that he might prove loyal to 
his own heart, is evidence of his sincerity, 
and entitles him to our confidence and 
respect.” “Mr. Fairchild,” she concluded, 
“ your gentlemanly deportment through this 
trying ordeal has won for you a place in my 
heart that is second only to the desire for 
ray daughter’s happiness, and inasmuch as 
you saw fit to elevate her to your own rank 
and social position when she was but a poor 
simple girl, without even a legitimate title to 
the humble name she bore, I leave it for her 
to say whether the homage paid her then 
finds a responsive chord in her heart today.” 

For a brief moment Margie stood speech- 
less, then raising her downcast eyes she looked 
first at Arthur, then at her mother, and smil- 
ing through her tears, she timidly replied: 

“ If my heart and hand are deemed an 
equivalent by Mr. Fairchild for all the worry 


ARTHUR EXPLAINS. 


129 


and trouble I liave unintentionally caused 
him, I will not refuse the latter, as — as — ” 
she blushingly stammered, ‘‘ heart and hand 
must go together.” 

With a triumphant look in his eyes, Arthur 
folded the unresisting girl in his strong arms, 
and as he held her closer to his heart, 
imprinted a lover’s kiss upon her trembling 
lips. Turning to Mrs. Carlton to express 
his thanks for her generous “ Christmas 
gift,” he found that lady had stolen quietly 
from the room, accompanied by her devoted 
husband, and the lovers were alone. 

There is little more to relate, as none 
should seek to penetrate the veil which the 
sweet messenger of love would fain draw 
over her idols. 


CHAPTER IX. 


CONCLUSION. 

It was tbe latter part of June. Why is 
this the month in wliich the recording Angel 
is most frequently called upon to register 
vows, which the human heart so blindly 
offers as a sweet sacrifice on Hymen’s altar? 
No matter why. It was the last of June, and 
nature, still clad in lier bridal robes, awaited 
the coming of those long sultry days which 
would change the soft tints of her raiment 
to the sombre hues of autumn. 

Down the graveled walk, that led from the 
beautiful home of Captain Fairchild toward 
the village churchyard, strolled the newly- 
wedded pair. Much consternation was mani- 
fest when it was known among the homely 
village folks that the fair young bride whom 
Mr. and Mrs. Fairchild had received with 
open arms was none other than Margie, the 
old gardener’s daughter, whose sudden dis- 


130 


CONCLUSION. 


131 


appearance a few montlis previous had sup- 
plied them so bountifully with food for gos- 
sip. 

Hand in hand the young couple slowly 
wended their way, apparently unconscious of 
the curious eyes that were peering through 
half-closed shutters, eager to obtain a glimpse 
of the fortunate girl whom fate had elevated 
to the highest plane of social distinction. 
Arriving at their destination each stood with 
bowed head as tliey gazed upon the grassy 
mound which awakened within their hearts 
so many painful memories. With a long 
drawn sigh Margie took from ber bosom a 
bunch of forget-me-nots, and tenderly placed 
them upon the grave of the only father she 
had ever known. Turning to Arthur she 
said, in a voice choked with emotion: To 

his memory I owe much, for — 

“ ‘Who does the best his circumstance allows, 

Does well, acts nobly— Angels could do no more.’ ” 


LOVE’S DREAM. 


Nature, clothed in brightest green, 
Smiles through pearly drops of dew 

Starry gems, that stud the skies. 

Mingle with the azure blue; 

Floral treasures, sweet and rare, 

Greet us with their sunny smile; 

Feathered songsters trill their notes. 
Weary moments to beguile. 

Rippling brooklets ebb and flow. 
Gliding down their winding way; 

Zephyrs, laden with perfume. 

Dance amid the shining spray. 

Life is all one blissful dream, 

Hope’s bright anchor cheers the heart. 

But, alas for earthly joys! 

Sorrow bids them all depart. 

Lips that sealed a lover’s vow 
Whispe'r that sweet tale of old; 

Bosom white with rapture swells — 
Sweetest story e’er was told. 

Gentle maiden, young and fair. 

Fondly yields her heart and hand: . 

Child of beauty, wealth, and fame, 
Cupid bow s at her command. 

Loudly peal the marriage-bells. 

Rings the echo through the air; 

At the altar kneels the bride. 
Orange-blossoms deck her hair; 

Tender words that plight her troth. 
Love’s pure kiss upon her brow; 

Heaven’s blessing rests on each. 

As they take the solemn vow'. 

A few bright days of sunshine. 

Then a smile, a tear, a prayer; 

The life so fraught with pleasure 

Bringeth trials each must share. 

A few years of hard labor. 

Intermixed with pain and grief — 

Death opens wide his portals. 

And the weary find relief. 

I 


THE DOCTOR’S SECOMD LOVE 


From whose hand came this beautiful offering. 
Token of friendship that smiles through its tears? 
Love’s tender missive is borne on the zephyrs; 

Hope alone brightens the swift passing years. 

Sweet floral tribute so laden with perfume. 

Plucked from the bosom of fair Mother Earth, 
What is the message which thou wouldst deliver? 
Why didst thou leave the laud of thy birth? 

Faded and drooping thy delicate petals. 

Crushed are the leaves that around thee entwine; 
Tell me the story ere thy heart cease beating. 

For this hidden language I cannot define. 

Is there a germ that would take root if nourished? 

Is there one spark of life still lingering there? 

If so, then I will hope on and forever,’ 

While nursing these flowers with tenderest care. 


A.IV 


THE DOCTOR’S SECOND LOVE. 


“Owing to a business engagemept,” said 
our good family physician, “ which will neces- 
sarily detain me in New York for a few 
weeks, whither I am about to go, I shall be 
obliged, for the time being, to turn my 
patients over to my worthy partner, Dr. 
Beaumond, with whom I have recently estab- 
lished a partnership relation, and who, from 
a long experience in the profession, is able 
to minister to their wants in a manner that 
will meet their entire approbation. 

“ I am aware that he is a comparative 
stranger in your midst, but hope the confi- 
dence you have ever reposed in me will be 
in no wise diminished after having, through 
my recommendation, accepted him in the 
capacity of your medical advisor. Believing 


135 


136 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


that no eulogy which I may pronounce upon 
him will fall short of the high moral and 
professional standard to which he has 
attained, I unhesitatingly*introduce him to 

the good people of L , with the assurance 

that my successor />ro tern is a gentleman of 
more than ordinary culture and refinement, 
beside possessing those qualities so rarely 
found in the medical fraternity of the pres- 
ent age, viz. — devout Christianity, coupled 
with that scarcely less essential attribute, 
dignity of character thdt, combined, entitle 
him to the high calling to which he is so 
admirably adapted.” 

Now, our old family physician, although 
not an adherent to any particular sect or 
creed, was looked up to as a patron saint by 
each member of our household, and from my 
earliest infancy I had been taught to honor 
and revere his name above that of any gen- 
tlemen acquaintance, save the village pastor, 
to whom was granted the sacred privilege of 
admission into our family circle. Therefore, 
the high encomiums so lavishly bestowed 


THE DOCTOK’s second LOVE. 


137 


were all-sufficient to ingratiate the new doc- 
tor into my father’s good graces, and more 
particularly as he was said to possess a 
marked degree of innate dignity — that being 
the shrine at which my paternal ancestor had 
ever worshipped. 

My mother, dear soul, being always a frail, 
nervous invalid since the time of my birth, 
and from whom I had inherited the seed of 
disease, which had previously lain dormant, 
was deepl}' distressed at the thought of 
placing herself, or me, under the professional 
care of an entire stranger; however, our 
good Dr. Cornell’s word was likewise law to 
her, and after many anxious inquiries, and 
fearful apprehensions in regard to the possi- 
. bility of his continued absence, she feebly 
pressed his hand, and bidding him God speed 
and a safe return, promised, should any 
member of our family require medical aid 
during his absence, that Dr. Beaumond should 
be summoned. 

She had, from my earliest recollection, 
indulged the most exaggerated fears in regard 


138 


THE doctor’s second DOVE. 


to my health, always attaching the utmost 
importance to any change that could possibly 
be attributed to the slightest indispositon. 
Knowing this earnest solicitude in my behalf 
to be one of my mother’s weaknesses, I spent 
several successive days, subsequent to tho 
doctor’s departure, in the most alarming 
state of perturbation, lest she should become 
needlessly anxious concerning my health, and 
as a consequence, subject me to the embar- 
rassment of receiving a call from Dr. Beau- 
mond. 

Had our good Dr. Cornell, when enumerat- 
ing the virtues of liis illustrious successor, 
omitted to mention that dignity was one of 
his prominent characteristics, I might have 
looked upon him with some degree of allow- 
ance; but the well-remembered fact that the 
particular object of my aversion had been 
the tall, bony, long-haired principal, under 
whose tuition I had been placed a year 
previous, and for whom my father enter- 
tained the most profound admiration — in 
-consequence of his possessing a vast amount 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


139 


of this enviable quality — had made a lasting 
impression upon my mind; and I ever after 
associated all to whom this term was applied 
with my formidable antagonist, Professor 
Van Slyck. 

Not many days elapsed, however, before I 
was called upon to undergo the painful ordeal 
of meeting the man of whom I fancied I 
should stand in such wonderful awe. My 
mother was suddenly taken ill, and a mes- 
senger was at once dispatched to bring Dr. 

Beaumond. The quiet little town of L 

could hardly be said to afford a lucrative 
business to the medical profession, therefore 
a call to one of the first and most prominent 
families was regarded as the stepping stone 
to worldly success. Being somewhat alarmed 
at my mother’s sudden illness, I gave but 
little heed when the door was opened leading 
into the sick-room, and the servant announced 
the doctor’s arrival. 

My father, who was sitting near the bed, 
arose, and in his usual quiet, dignified man- 
ner formally introduced Dr. Beaumond to 


140 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


my mother and myself. She unclosed her 
large, dark eyes, and, with a gentle smile, 
characteristic of her nature, acknowledged 
the presence of our stranger friend. As I 
raised my eyes to his, I observed that he 
gave a quick, sudden start; but I was too 
intent upon learning his opinion regarding 
my mother, to give him a very close inspec- 
tion; and after having asked a few questions 
in a low voice, he wrote out a prescription 
and took his leave. 1 could remember little 
else than that he was an exceedingly fine- 
looking man, about middle age, with fair 
complexion, and the deepest, saddest eyes I 
had ever looked into. 

For several days my time was divided 
between superintending the domestic affairs 
and rendering my mother the little attentions 
which are incumbent ^ipon those who assist 
in the sick room. Although she had a com- 
petent nurse, there were numerous attentions 
required which she refused to receive from 
other hands than my own. Dr. Beaumond 
paid her daily visits, and seemed untiring in 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


141 


his efforts to relieve the sick sufferer, yet 
there was little apparent change in her from 
day to day. I noticed that during his calls 
he always avoided conversation with me; 
but, whenever my eyes chanced to meet his, 
they were fixed upon me with that peculiar 
earnestness that led me to believe I was 
regarded as an object of more than ordinary 
interest. 

As I was sitting at the window one day, 
in deep meditation, while my mother had 
dropped off into a quiet slumber, I was 
aroused from my reverie by the sound of 
voices in low, earnest conversation. Not 
being aware that any visitor had arrived, I 
walked down the hall, and, on entering the 
library, was surj)rised to find my father con- 
versing with Dr. Beaumond, both evidently 
in an excited frame of mind. Believing this 
consultation had reference alone to my 
mother’s illness, I stammered an apology for 
my intrusion, and, with increased anxiety, 
hastened back to the sacred precincts of my 
mother’s room. 


142 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


On meeting my father that evening at the 
tea-table, I fancied that he watched my every 
motion with a marked degree of interest, 
and when he addressed any conversation to 
me, his voice was low and gentle, with an 
occasional suppressed sigh, as if some heavy 
calamity was about to befall him. I had 
resolved upon learning the facts in the case, 
and fully decided to avail myself of the first 
opportunity of meeting him alone, and per- 
suading him, if possible, to tell me all that 
the doctor had said concerning my mother. 

As I was revolving the subject in my mind, 
the nurse quickly opened the door, and, in a 
hurried and excited manner, informed my 
father and me that our presence was required 
immediately in the sick-room. We hastened 
thither, to find my mother in a state of pros- 
tration resulting from a sudden coughing fit, 
to which she was subject. This was followed 
by a violent hemorrhage, and on the arrival 
of the doctor, who was hastily summoned, 
she had sunk into an almost lifeless condition. 
All available means were used to restore her 


THE rOCTOR’s SECOND LOVE. 


143 


to consciousness, and after the lapse of an 
hour or more, our eiforts were crowned with 
success, as she lay in a quiet sleep. 

In breathless silence we watched the feeble 
lamp of life, not daring to speak, lest the 
sudden awakening should extinguish it for- 
ever. During the entire night neither of us 
left her bedside, and on the following morn- 
ing we were rejoiced to know that we were 
recognized, although she was still unable to 
speak. My aunt, the only sister of my 
mother, had been telegraphed for, and on 
her arrival I was relieved somewhat from 
the responsibility that had, until then, largely 
devolved upon myself. 

Tired and exhausted, one evening I sought 
relief from my cares by taking a quiet stroll 
down the winding path leading to a pleasant 
grove near the bank of the lake. As I 
walked leisurely along, my mind reverted 
back to the scenes of the past few weeks. 1 
remembered the day upon which my father 
presented Dr. Beauniond, when first he was 
called to my mother's bedside, and I also 


144 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 

recalled the evident emotion manifested by 
him when lie first beheld my face. Why 
this emotion? Why did he start at the 
sound of my name, and exhibit those unmis- 
takable signs of unrest, when in my presence, 
that had of late so frequently attracted my 
attention? Surely this man who was, 
undoubtedly, twenty years my senior, wmuld 
hardly be so weak as to bestow one tender 
thought upon a simple-hearted girl like 
myself — little else than a child — being only 
in my nineteenth year. 

Then I wondered if a man as old as he had 
lived all his life without loving somebodv, 
and indeed, was he not even then indulging 
the fond hojie of making some fair girl his 
partner for life? Why did I shudder at this 
thought? Something in my own heart told 
me that, however little I was to Dr. Beau- 
mond, he was very dear to me. I began to 
realize, for the first time in. my life, that the 
love ever cherished for me, under the pater- 
nal roof, was inadequate to fill the vacuum in 
my woman’s heart. 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


145 


Seating myself upon a ledge of rocks, over- 
looking the lake, I gazed long and wistfully 
into the far-olf future, wondering why it was 
that the time must come in the life of every 
true woman when her heart would be irre- 
sistibly drawn toward the one object, and 
should this be unattainable, she must hence- 
forth travel the journey of life alone, crush- 
ing forever the pure instincts of her womanly 
nature, that were placed in her bosom by the 
hand of her Creator. 

I was aroused from this reverie by a rust- 
ling sound among the leaves, warning me of 
approaching footsteps. Looking up quickly, 
I saw, a few yards away, coming toward me, 
the tall, handsome form of Dr, Beaumond. 
Burning blushes mantled my otherwise pale 
cheeks, for 1 felt intuitively that his keen, 
professional eye would penetrate the inmost 
recesses of my soul, and therein discover my 
hidden secret. I was chagrined at the thought 
of any person’s knowing that I had so far 
forgotten myself as to overstep the bounds of 
maidenly propriety by allowing my youthful 


146 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


affections to wander, uninvited, into by-ways 
and forbidden paths. Walking slowly toward 
me, he raised his hat, and with a low bow^ 
said : 

‘‘Good evening, Miss De Yere; you have 
truly chosen a lovely spot wherein to while 
away a pleasant hour. I came around to call 
on my patient, and, finding her enjoying a 
quiet siesta^ I asked to see you, and was told 
by the nurse that you had gone out for a 
walk. Knowing this to be one of your 
favorite haunts, I repaired hither, hoping to 
find you in this sequestered spot; and as my 
effort has proven a success, I can only beg 
your pardon for this intrusion into your 
sanctuary.” 

I bade him good evening, and politely 
asked him to be seated upon the trunk of a 
fallen free that lay across the rock on which 
I was sitting. He accepted the invitation, 
and, taking off his hat, I noticed that his hair 
was slightly streaked with gray. Looking 
up into his deep, earnest eyes, I said: 

“Dr. Beauniond, I will pardon you on one 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


147 


condition only, and that is that you never 
again call me Miss De Vere.” 

He arose from the seat I had assigned him, 
and coming nearer me, sat down on a piece 
of rock, close at my feet. Fixing his eyes 
intently upon my face, in a low, sad voice, 
he smilingly said: 

“What shall I call you, then, if not Miss 
De Vere?” 

“Call me Inez,” I replied. “That is my 
Christian name, and a very pretty one, too, I 
think; don’t you agree with me in this par- 
ticular?” 

He dropped his head, and, placing both 
hands over his face, sat for several moments, 
apparently in deep meditation. Silently look- 
ing up at him, I saw that his face was very 
pale, and there was a peculiar expression 
depicted upon his countenance that I had 
never seen there before. Wondering what 
1 had said to thus affect him, and with a 
confidence in myself born of the hope, now 
springing up within my breast, that this man 
cared for me in some mysterious manner — 


148 


THE doctor’s second DOVE. 


else, why would my simple words bring this 
death-like pallor to his face? — I said: 

“ Dr. Beaumond, was there anything wrong 
in my asking you to call me Inez?” 

“ No, my child, nothing wrong whatever. 
I shall love to call you by that name — should 
have asked the privilege long ago of doing 
so had our acquaintance been such as to war- 
rant me in making the request.” 

How sweet those words sounded in my 
ears, “No, my child,” when uttered by his lips! 
And yet, was it really so — that he regarded 
me as a child? If only that, then the new- 
born hope that I had lately dared to cherish 
was indeed a vain delusion, from which the 
sooner I freed myself, the better for my 
future peace and happiness. Anxious to 
draw him out still farther, yet fearing to do 
so, I looked up into his face and timidly 
asked: 

“Do I really seem like a child. Dr. Beau- 
mond?” 

“No, no, Inez! you can never seem like a 
ehild to me. I only called you so because of 


THE DOCTOE’S second DOVE. 


149 


the great disparity in our respective ages. 
Inez, you have asked me a question that I 
have answered; may I now ask you one in 
return?” 

“Yes,” I replied, “ask me as many as 
you choose, but ask me none that I cannot 
answer.” 

“Well, do I seem like a very old man to 
you, Inez?” 

A loud ringing laugh was my only reply, 
but remembering the grave manner in which 
these words were said, I assumed a dignified 
train of thought, and replied: 

“Well, no; I should never think of address- 
ing you as Grandpapa!” 

Seeing the mischievous look upon my face, 
he said, in a melancholy tone, at the same 
time extending his hand, as I was about to rise: 

“Inez, I think my question is at least 
entitled to your respect. I had a purpose in 
asking you this, and shall not my gray hairs 
defend me from ridicule?” 

Drawing my arm within his own, we 
walked silently in a homeward direction. 


150 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


Tears were gathering in my eyes, and with 
a deep sense of grief at having wounded the 
feelings of the man I respected above all 
others, I begged him to forgive my seeming 
lack of respect, at the same time assuring 
him that to ridicule anything he had said 
was the farthest thing from my thoughts. 
Seeing how deeply I regretted the unfortu- 
nate circumstance, he took both my hands 
within his own, and, looking into my eyes, 
with indescribable tenderness, said: 

‘‘ Inez, my precious child, there is really 
nothing to forgive. I fear I am growing 
morbidly sensitive where you are concerned, 
but some day, with your permission, I will 
tell you a story of my early life, that may, in 
part, explain away my strange behavior of 
this afternoon.” 

We had already arrived at my home, and, 
entering the house together, he passed into 
my mother’s room, while I took refuge with- 
in the sacred walls of my own chamber, there 
to meditate upon the strange transactions of 
the past few hours. 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


15L 


For several weeks subsequent to the fore- 
going conversation my mother slowly 
improved, giving us each day renewed hope 
of her ultimate recovery. During all this 
time Dr. Beaumond paid his usual visits, 
always treating me in a quiet and gentle- 
manly manner, but never once referring to 
our meeting and the strange colloquy that 
ensued. Weary and listless I moved about, 
performing the daily routine of duties 
assigned me; for since the anxiety, caused 
by my mother’s illness had in some degree 
abated, I felt that my nervous system had 
undergone a severe shock, from which I was 
hardly able to rally. I was also deeply 
troubled in my mind in regard to Dr. Beau- 
mond’s continued silence upon a subject that 
occupied my every thought. 

Thus day after day passed on. I had 
grown pale and thin from want of out door 
exercise, having been for so many weeks 
closely confined in the sick-room. My 
mother, becoming alarmed at my quiet man- 
ner and changed appearance, proposed that I 


152 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


should take a trip to visit my cousin, who 
lived in a neighboring city, about one hun- 
dred miles away. As she was now in a state 
of convalescence, and having gained my 
aunt’s consent to remain with her a few 
weeks longer, I felt that my services were 
not positively required at home, and having 
buried the one hope in which I had for a 
brief season indulged, I decided to avail 
myself of this opportunity, and, if possible, 
forget the man to whom I had secretly given 
my heart’s best affections. 

I at once set about making preparations 
for my journey, but found, as the time was 
approaching for me to depart, that the antici- 
pated pleasure of a visit to my relative was 
hardly of sufiicient importance to ease the dull, 
aching pain caused by the thought that I must 
so soon bid adieu to him whose daily visits 
to my mother had for so long a time been 
my only source of happiness. Having about 
decided in my own mind, however, that 1 
would overcome this weakness, which was 
daily growing upon me, I went into my 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


153 


mother’s room, and informed her that it was 
my intention to start on my journey the fol- 
lowing day. She smiled her approval of my 
plans, and bade me put on my hat and shawl, 
telling me that a brisk walk in the open air 
would bring the roses back to my cheeks. 
After imprinting a kiss upon her pale lips I 
obeyed her injunction, glad of the oppor- 
tunity to escape a meeting with Dr. Beau- 
mond, whose arrival was momentarily 
expected. 

The cool air was refreshing, and as I felt 
a strong desire to again visit the spot where 
I had held the first confidential meeting with 
the idol of my heart, I walked rapidly in the 
direction of the lake. Arriving at the spot, 
which was sacred to me from association, I 
again seated myself upon the ledge of rocks 
where I was sitting at the time of Dr. Beau- 
mond’s unceremonious visit. Burying my 
face in both my hands, I was soon deeply 
engrossed in my own painful thoughts. Did 
I truly love this man, or was it only a girlish 
fancy that would soon pass away? If only 


154 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


the latter, then why did I — in imagination — 
at that very moment feel his breath upon 
my cheek, his loving hands stroking my hair, 
his tender arms holding me close down to 
his pure, noble heart? Why was I ever look- 
ing into his deep, sad eyes, endeavoring to 
fathom the hidden secret, which I felt was 
contained in the story he had promised, at 
some future time, to relate? 

I sat for a long time pondering these 
thoughts in my mind, when, suddenly arous- 
ing myself from this reverie, and consulting 
my watch, I found that I had already been 
a long time away from my mother, to whom 
belonged the few remaining hours previous 
to my departure. With a heavy heart I 
retraced my footsteps, and when within a 
short distance of my home, looking up I saw 
Dr. Beaumond’s horse standing tied in front 
of the gate. Anxious, if possible, to avoid a 
meeting with him, in my present state of 
feeling, I turned into a winding path leading 
to an arbor adjacent to my father’s lawn. 
Seating myself upon the ground in this 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


155 


shady retreat, I gave vent to my feelings in 
an uncontrollable fit of weeping. Scarcely 
had this subsided when I saw Dr. Beaumond 
coming through the gate, and down the path 
in the direction of my hiding-place. Fear- 
ing lest he should discover traces of my grief, 
and question me in regard to the cause, I 
hastily brushed away my tears, and rising, 
started to walk in an opposite direction. He 
was already within a short distance of me, 
and was soon by my side. Laying his hand 
gently upon my shoulder, in a sad, pathetic 
voice he asked if I would grant him the 
privilege of a few moments’ conversation. I 
attempted to reply, when tears choked my 
utterance. My half-suppressed sobs being 
taken as an affirmative answer, he addressed 
to me the following words: 

Inez, your mother tells me you are going 
away to-morrow.” 

‘‘Yes,” I replied “that is my inten- 
tion.” 

Taking my hand tenderly, he led me away 
a few steps, seating me upon a grassy mound, 


156 


THE DOCTOR S SECOND LOVE. 


while he reclined upon a rustic seat near ray 
side. 

“ Inez,” he continued, “ do you remember 
our conversation the day I surprised you by 
invading your sanctuary in the grove near 
the lake?” 

“Yes; I well remember our interview 
upon that occasion.” 

“ I then promised I would some day relate 
a story to you that would doubtless explain 
my strange conduct at that time.” 

“Yes, I believe those were your words.” 

“ Well, are you ready to listen?” 

I gave an affirmative answer, when he nar- 
rated the following story: 

“ Many years ago — while a member of the 
junior class in college — I received an invita- 
tion from my room-mate, Harry Delavan, to 
spend my vacation of two weeks at his 

father’s home in C . Having no home 

of my own — my parents both dying when I 
was very young — I readily accepted his 
proffered kindness, and on the day after 
school closed we took our departure, both 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


157 


delighted at the prospect of a fortnight’s 
rest from the restraint imposed upon us dur- 
ing our college life. There I met and loved 
beautiful Inez Delavan, my friend’s adopted 
sister, and during the few blissful weeks, 
which succeeded our arrival, contrived to 
win her heart. 

‘‘ When I took my departure, I was filled 
with glad anticipations of the future. The 
next few weeks were fraught with a joy such 
as I had never experienced before. Life to 
me was one blissful dream, from which I 
hoped never to be awakened. But alas for 
* human hopes and aspirations! The reaction 
came too soon. Her letters, which were my 
greatest source of happiness, ceased coming 
at the appointed time, and, although I wrote 
several, in which I renewed my vows of con- 
stancy and undying love, no reply was 
received, and I was left in ignorance of the 
cause of her silence. I imagined everything, 
doubtless, save the real occasion of this 
estrangement, but could arrive at no satis- 
factory conclusion. 


158 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


“ I decided at length to make one more 
effort toward an explanation of this strange 
mystery, but my worst fears were confirmed 
when, in answer to my letter, came a cold, 
formal note from her father, informing me 
that the engagement between his daughter 
and myself was broken off, and warning me 
against any further attempt at a reconcilia- 
tion. He also stated that Inez was only too 
happy to restore my freedom, and earnestly 
hoped that I would very soon forget the 
unfortunate circumstance which had occa- 
sioned her such painful embarrassment. 
With a broken heart, and wounded pride, I 
attempted the pursuance of my studies, little 
caring what earth had in store for me; but I 
found life intolerable, with all the doubts 
and fears that clustered around my heart. 

‘•At the close of that term I bade farewell 
to my teachers and companions, being fully 
persuaded that a life among entire strangers 
was preferable to remaining where I was. 
With a sad heart I informed Harry that he 
was no longer my prospective brother-in-law. 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


159 


which appeared to be news that greatly sur- 
prised him, and for which he expressed the 
deepest regret. After graduating at a 
college in a remote State, I commenced the 
study of medicine, and since entering my 
profession, have found a melancholy pleasure 
in ministering to the sufferings of my fellow- 
creatures. Marriage has been the farthest 
thing from my thoughts since the day that I 
buried my first love-dream. This afternoon 
I received your mother’s permission to relate 
this story to you, which is true in every par- 
ticular save that I have used some fictitious 
names in place of those that are real, for I 
must now tell you that Inez Delavan is your 
own mother!” 

After I had recovered from the shock pro- 
duced by this painful disclosure, he resumed 
his story, saying that for eighteen years he 
had been true to the memory of his first 
love. 

‘‘But,” said he. “when I saw in you the 
duplicate of her who was once so dear to me, 
your eyes, features, even your name, being 


160 THE doctor’s second love. 

that of her whom I had long since mourned 
as dead, is it strange that I should, down 
deep in my heart, cherish the fond hope of 
some day calling you mine? Inez,” he said, 
drawing me near him, love you as I 
never loved but one woman; and since the 
first hour that I beheld your fair face, I have 
dared to cherish the fond hope of some day 
winning your heart. Have you no word of 
encouragement for him who now offers you 
the poor remainder of his broken life?” 

Looking up iiito his face, and smiling 
through my tears, I replied: 

“If you think that Inez DeYere can fill 
the place in your heart once occupied by her 
mother, she will try to do so, provided you 
gain the consent of her father to give his 
daughter’s happiness to the keeping of 
another.” 

Clasping me close to his heart, he im- 
printed his first kiss upon my trembling lips, 
and, with a new light shining in his now 
really youthful face, said: 

“My darling! on the day that you entered 


THE doctor’s second LOVE. 


161 


the library and found your father and me in 
close conversation, I gained his permission 
to win this blessing, that shall henceforth be 
the crowning joy of life.” 

The remainder of this story is quickly 
told. Harry Delavan loved his adopted sis- 
ter, and, in his uncontrollable desire to make 
her his wife, he yielded his honor by fabri- 
cating base accusations against the character 
of his friend; and although he succeeded in 
robbing him of the jewel he had won, the 
result of his evil machinations were in no 
wise conducive to his own happiness, for his 
suit was peremptorily rejected, when first 
his intentions were made known to his almost 
broken-hearted sister. 

My visit was postponed; and when, a few 
weeks later, I packed my bridal trousseau 
preparatory to performing that journey, it 
was with a light and cheerful heart, for the 
words had been spoken that gave me an 
undoubted right to the doctor’s second love. 


LOVE’S QUESTIONINGS. 


My dearest, have I ever caused a pang of grief 
To pierce thy heart, in these long, weary years? 

Have I not by my love, my prayers, my tears, 

Brought sometimes to thy stricken soul relief? 

When first we met! Ah me! Hast thou forgot the time 
When first I gazed into thy face so pure? 

I felt for thee all things 1 could endure — 

Thy nature seemed so gentle, so sublime. 

Life’s journey then, for thee, had thorns along its way : 

The light of love that once had filled thy breast 
Was there no more; and, in its place. Unrest 
Had entered in' and filled thee with dismay. 

The dark and threatening clouds which had thy sky o’ercast. 
The rays of sunshine hiding from thy view, 

I sought to drive away, and then renew 
The cherished hopes long buried in the Past. 

Must 1 forever feel Love’s labor wrought in vain? 

The happiness I fain with thee would share 
I cannot give unto another’s care; 

Tiie thought of this, beloved, gives me pain. 

I’ll bow my head, and at God’s altar humbly kneel; 

His blessing I will ask on thee and me; 

And if, in time. He wills it so to be. 

Perchance in vain may not be my appeal. 

Dost thou believe the cross I have to bear is light- - 
That I can soon forget those happy days 
When in this trusting heart shone, bright as rays 
Of setting sun, thy love, now lost to sight? 

Not lost to me — ah, no ! — but hidden from my view. 

The miles that stretch their weary length between 
My love and me ! That dear face no more seen ! 

Yet, while life lasts, I know he will prove true. 


FRflHK' LEYTOH’S BRIDE 


Farewell, my loved one ! tear drops are falling ; 
While thou art journeying on thy lone way ; 
Distance increasing, 

Heart aches ne’er ceasing, 

Shadows grow dark, as I kneel down to pray. 

Why must this anguish be ever my portion? 
When from earth’s pilgrimage will I be free? 
Life is no blessing, 

When daily suppressing. 

The heart’s tender echo. O, come back to me! 

Hourly I listen for those gentle footsteps, 
Nevermore coming to lighten the soul ; 

Days spent in gladness 
Have turned into sadness 
While time moves along with its unceasing roll. 

Farewell, my loved one ! tear drops are falling; 
But sweet is the memory of those happy days; 
When matters were righted 
And hearts were united 
We mingled our voices in anthems of praise. 


FRANK LEYTON’S BRIDE. 


“No, Frank, I can never be your wife! 
Not that I consider you unworthy, mind, but 
there are reasons which I cannot disclose 
that prove to my own heart the absurdity of 
making a matrimonial alliance with any man. 
It would be cherishing a vain delusion, which 
can never be realized.” 

The speaker was a fair, delicate girl, over 
whose shoulders fell a wealth of golden hair. 
Her beautiful, soft, hazel eyes were turned 
toward her companion, with a half-beseech- 
ing look, that bore unmistakable signs of 
regret at being thus compelled to crush the 
fond hopes that he had cherished. He lin- 
gered at her side, and seemed importunate 
in his entreaties that she should reconsider 
her decision, but she persistently refused to 
even allow him the hope that at some future 
time she might revoke the decree that had 


165 


166 


FRANK LEYTON’S BRIDE. 


gone forth. She acknowledged the honor 
conferred upon her, yet she assured him that 
her decision was irrevocable. 

Frank Leyton turned away to hide the grief 
that was depicted upon his countenance, 
which he feared might be considered the 
evidence of a weakness in his nature. His 
tall, manly form was bowed down as he 
vainly endeavored to crush the bitter disap- 
pointment her words had caused him. It 
was a blow that he had half expected when 
he offered himself in marriage to Cora Dun- 
ton, for, during their brief acquaintance, he 
had never detected the slightest manifesta- 
tion that would lead him to believe she 
entertained deeper feelings for him than 
those of ordinary friendship. Yet he was 
aware that one possessing her dignity of 
character, would not wear her heart pinned 
on her sleeve, and he respected her all the 
more for her sweet, girlish modesty. He 
had decided to stake all, even though he 
lost, for the time had come when he must 
speak, as the following day he was to sail for 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


167 


England for the purpose of transacting busi- 
ness connected with the firm to which he had 
been recently admitted as junior partner. 
To leave his home for a year or more, in 
doubt and uncertainty regarding his future 
prospects, was more anxiety than he cared 
to endure; therefore, on this bright moon- 
light evening, the one previous to his 
departure, he resolved to settle the question 
on which hung his future happiness. 

Cora Dunton loved Frank Leyton with all 
the intensity of her woman’s heart, and, 
although she had for some time been aware 
of a growing tenderness on his part, she had 
never, for one moment, indulged the fond 
hope of being more to him than a friend. 

On the day subsequent to the foregoing 
conversation, Frank Leyton left his home 
with a heavy heart, and as the good steamer 
of the ‘‘White Star Line” ploughed the 
smooth waters of New York Bay, as she 
proudly steered her course toward the broad 
bosom of the Atlantic, he stood with folded 
arms upon her quarter-deck, while a host of 


168 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


friends on shore were wafting their good- 
byes and hearty congratulations, almost 
envying him the good fortune that enabled 
him to visit a foreign land. One, and only 
one of that vast multitude, knew of the great 
disappointment lying so heavily on his heart. 
Could he have seen the tear-drops upon 
those pale cheeks and heard the earnest 
prayer for his welfare, uttered by those 
trembling lips, as a slight, girlish form 
shrank away to escape observation, he would 
have realized that the love of his heart was 
not bestowed on Cora Dunton in vain. 

Frank Leyton pondered over her strange 
words. Why did she so emphatically assert 
that it would be cherishing hopes that could 
never be realized? /.Might he not obviate 
that difficulty? And yet, when he had 
begged her to give him her reasons, she had 
absolutely refused to do so. Surely her 
frank manner would indicate that her youth- 
ful affections were disengaged. A ray of 
sunshine crept through the dark cloud, and 
he resolved to write her occasionally, and, if 


FRANK LEYTON’S BRIDE. 


169 


possible, keep her young, pure heart free 
from any other entanglement during his 
absence, and on his return to ascertain, if 
possible, the nature of this seeming mys- 
tery. 

Cora Dunton was the only child of her 
widowed mother, the latter having removed 
to the city with her lovely daughter but a 
few months previous to Frank Leyton’s de- 
parture. He had made the acquaintance of 
the young lady at the house of a friend. A 
warm friendship was the result of this ac- 
quaintance, which fast ripened into a more 
tender passion, and, after visiting her at her 
own home, and becoming somewhat ac- 
quainted with her charming mother, he 
resolved to propose marriage to this beauti- 
ful girl, without really knowing anything 
regarding her early history or family connec- 
tions. He had learned that her father had 
died when she was very young, since which 
time she had resided with her mother in a 
small town, some distance from thfeir present 
location. They had left their quiet home, 


170 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


taking up their abode in New York, ostensi- 
bly for the purpose of finishing the daugh- 
ter’s education. Frank Leyton was hope- 
lessly in love from the beginning of their 
acquaintance, and questioned only his own 
heart in regard to this lovely girl. To win 
her was his highest ambition, and he was 
anxious to claim her before she came in con- 
tact with the world; for, although her mother 
lived in a quiet manner, he was fully per- 
suaded that one so well calculated to shine 
in the social circle would soon be sought out, 
and drawn into the dangerous whirlpool of 
fashionable life. 

Cora was a devoted daughter, and soon 
made known the fact of young Leyton’s pro- 
posal and rejection. With painful apprehen- 
sions, her mother questioned her in regard 
to her own feelings in the matter, and was 
grieved to hear her daughter exclaim, as she 
threw both arms around her neck: 

‘‘Oh dear, dear mother! I am fearful that 
I loved him better than I ought, for his de- 
parture has caused me a deeper heart-ache 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


171 


than I thought it possible for me to ever 
experience again.” 

Clasping her daughter to her breast, she 
tried to comfort her with assurances that the 
dark cloud which enveloped her young life 
would some time be lifted, and the sunlight 
of God’s love shine brightly for her again. 

Frank Leyton arrived in Liverpool safely, 
and, although many days were spent during 
his journey in the awful suspense caused by 
a violent, tempestuous sea, he felt that the 
waves of disappointment which engulfed his 
heart were more to be dreaded than those 
which, at times, threatened to swallow up 
the vessel with its precious cargo of human 
lives. 

For several weeks 'after his arrival he was 
engrossed with business, finding but little 
opportunity for writing to his friends at 
home, and, finally, when he ventured to ad- 
dress a few lines to the object ever uppermost 
in his thoughts, he was rewarded with a 
polite and kind note from her mother, say- 
ing her daughter’s decision was final, and a 


172 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


correspondence would only lead to a mis- 
understanding. After the receipt of this 
note he resolved to make no further attempts 
at an explanation until his return to America. 
He remembered with painful recollection 
the gentle, beseeching look which she gave 
him at parting, and he could not help 
believing that down deep in her heart there 
was a sympathetic chord that vibrated when- 
ever he addressed her with words of endear- 
ment. 

Some months subsequent to his arrival in 
Europe he became acquainted with a young 
man named Robert Secor, between whom 
and himself arose a friendly relation. Secor 
was a tall, fine-looking fellow about his own 
age, and, as he proved to be a fellow-coun- 
tryman, young Leyton cultivated a closer 
intimacy. Finding his companion decidedly 
agreeable, much of their leisure time was 
spent in friendly intercourse. As their 
acquaintance progressed, however, Leyton 
noticed a peculiar reticence on the part of 
his new-made friend, and, although he tried 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


173 


at different times to draw him out in regard 
to his former life, he persistently evaded 
communicating anything that would throw 
light upon the subject. 

Secor became very much attached to 
Frank Leyton, however, frequently inviting 
him to the theater and other places of amuse- 
ment. One fine afternoon, as the two were 
driving on the boulevard, their horses took 
fright, dashing away at full speed, and 
before either succeeded in getting them 
under control, they collided with a passing 
vehicle, overturning the carriage, and throw- 
ing both occupants to the ground. Young 
Leyton escaped without serious injury, while 
his companion was taken up insensible and 
conveyed to the house of a friend. For 
several weeks he lay in an almost lifeless 
condition, during which time Frank Leyton 
was unceasing in his attendance upon him. 
When the physician abandoned all hope of 
his recovery, intimating that his injuries 
were of such a nature that death was inevita- 
ble at an early day, he felt that it was 


174 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


obligatory upon him to inform his friend of 
the impending danger. With a heavy heart 
he communicated the sad tidings, at the 
same time offering to render any assistance 
that lay in his power. After Secor became 
cognizant of the fact that his life was 
despaired of, he grew worse rapidly, and, as 
Leyton sat holding his hand one day, he 
unclosed his eyes, and, drawing his com- 
panion close down, whispered: 

“I am dying, Frank, and, as I am called 
upon to face the awful reality, I am con- 
strained to unburden my soul of a dark stain 
that has clouded my life for the past three 
years. I hoped some day to be able to repair, 
in part, the wrong which I have committed, 
but God has seen fit to call me before I have 
performed the work.” 

Resting to regain strength, while the great 
beads of perspiration stood upon his pale 
brow, he related, in broken sentences, the 
fact that three years previous he had become 
enamored of a beautiful young girl, to whom 
he had been secretly married, while at the 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


175 


same time he was the lawful husband of 
another. Immediately after the marriage 
he was informed that some one who knew 
of his perfidy was upon his track, and fear- 
ing the stern hand of the law he fled, leaving 
his unsuspecting young wife — as she sup- 
posed herself to be — in ignorance of his 
whereabouts or the cause of his sudden 
departure. 

“If,” continued he, “you can find this 
poor, innocent girl I wish you to tell her of 
the great wrong done her (if she is not 
already aware of the fact) and of the tragic 
end of the wretched man who sinned only 
because of his great love for her.” 

Ere he had given his companion a clew 
to the whereabouts of this unfortunate girl, 
he was seized with a violent hemorrhage, 
and before assistance could be summoned 
the soul of Robert Secor had passed into 
eternity. 

* * * * 

Frank Leyton was seated in a little rustic 
arbor inhaling the pure, fresh air of his 


176 


FBANK Leyton's bride. 


native land, listening to the words of wel- 
come from her who, two years previous had 
crushed his brightest earthly hopes. In a 
low, gentle voice Cora Dunton related the 
few incidents worthy of mention which 
had transpired during his absence, while in 
return he was telling her of his life abroad, 
and of the dark hours when she alone was 
his guiding star. Placing his arm tenderly 
about her waist, and drawing her gently 
toward him, he was in the act of once more 
proclaiming his undying love, when he 
chanced to speak of his unfortunate friend, 
and the narrow escape from death that he 
himself had undergone. At the mention of 
Robert Secor’s name she suddenly turned 
pale, and, with a low cry, fell senseless at 
his feet. 

Taking her tenderly in his arms, he has- 
tened to the house, depositing her upon a 
couch, at the same time narrating the strange 
event to her almost frantic mother. As he 
spoke the name of his deceased friend, he 
noticed a marvelous change pass over the 


FRANK Leyton’s bride. 


177 


features of Mrs. Dunton, and, after restoring 
the daughter to consciousness, her mother 
begged him to tell her all he knew of Robert 
Secor. He briefly related what the reader 
already knows. At the conclusion of his 
story she raised her tearful eyes, and, with a 
trembling voice, said: 

“Mr. Leyton, it is but just and proper that 
1 should inform you that Robert Secor was 
the man who stood between you and my 
daughter’s love, for she supposed him to be 
her lawful husband.” 

The scene that followed this disclosure 
can better be imagined than described, and 
we will simply inform the reader that a few 
weeks later a quiet wedding took place at 
the residence of the Widow Dunton, and as 
the days merged into weeks, and weeks into 
months, the sorrows of the past were for- 
gotten, and the happy wife looked back with 
pride and joy to the blissful hour when she 
became Frank Leyton’s bride. 


COME TO ME, DARLING. 


Come to me darling, and brighten my pathway! 

My head on thy breast I would pillow once more; 
Thy tears on my cheek, like dewdrops from Heaven 
Will ease this dull heartache as in days of yore. 
Sweet was the love-dream so fondly I cherished 
In those blissful days that no more will return, 
When in thine embrace, so loving and tender. 

Was taught me the lesson I cannot unlearn. 

Come to me, darling! I list for thy footsteps. 

That low, plaintive voice, will I hear nevermore? 
Must I never feel thy hand’s gentle pressure 
Till death shall unite us on that other shore? 

Dark are the shadows that linger around me— 

The pages of Mem’ry through tears I peruse : 

O cruel Fate! thou art so unrelenting; 

In vain are petitions when thou dost refuse. 

Come to me, darling! O hast thou forgotten 
That all other friends were deserted for thee? 
Blindly and madly though I loved another. 

My heart’s dearest treasure 1 gave to be free. 

In all of life’s joys thou art my companion; 

My first waking thoughts shall forever be thine; 
And, although Heaven and Angels forsake thee. 

My fondest affections around thee shall twine. 

Come to me, darling! I’m weary with waiting. 

As the long, dreary days pass slowly away; 

Life is bereft of all hope for the future— 

The dark clouds of sorrow make night of mid-day. 
Must we be parted, my dearest, forever? 

Will not true repentance atone for the past? 

God in his infinite mercy, will pardon. 

And teach us submission to His will at last. 


OUR VISITORS. 


Stealthily he creeps aloDg, 

Beside the garden fence; 

His tronsers rolled above the knee. 

His jacket full of rents. 

A gallows on one shoulder, 

A hat without a rim : 

He whispered in an undertone, 

“Come on, why don’t ye, Jim?” 

With one eye on the watch-dog, 

Jim slowly counts the cost: 

“If we’re ketched in that melon-patch. 
Why, everything is lost! 

They’ll take us to the lock-up 
As sure as we are born; 

Perhaps Old Brown is smart enough 
To catch us!” “In a horn!” 

A moment all is quiet; 

Then fell upon the ear 
A lusty voice : “Go sic ’em Bose! 

Holloa, you rascals there? 

Git out ye pesky varmints! 

I see what you’re about; 

’Tis them cantelopes ye’re arter, 

I haven’t any doubt. 

“Git out, I say, you villains!” 

The old man loudly cries. 

“You’d steal the coppers, I believe. 
From off a dead man’s eyes. 

If I’d my ox-goad with me, 

I’d make ye smart, you bet; 

You’d git a dose of hick’ry-ile 
You wouldn’t soon forget!” 

“Let’s go! He’s cornin’ sure, Jim! 

But I hain’t scart a bit; 

He dasn’t tackle us, ye know— 

But then, we’d better git!” 

“Ye ’spose he’s got a shot-gun?” 

“Less run with all our might; 

And, if he gits a holt on us. 

By golly! I’ll show fight.” 

The boys struck a double-quick; ' 

But Jim began to feel 
What retarded locomotion — 

A stone-bruise on his heel. 

And when Old Brown o’erhauled them, 
They both began to cry. 

And promised never more to steal : 
“Honest! We hope to die 


OUR VISITORS. 


May I hope for pardon from fond papas 
and doting mammas, if I enumerate some of 
the annoyances to which a forbearing hostess 
is frequently subjected by thoughtless parents 
allowing their young children to accompany 
them on visiting tours? 

Now, my dear reader, do not consign the 
writer of this little story to ignominy, nor 
attach to her name the opprobious epithet 
of ‘‘old maid,” for she, many years since, 
slipped her head into the “matrimonial 
noose,” and now belongs to that class of 
individuals whose forlorn condition enlists 
the sympathies of the major portion of her 
sex. Yes, it must be confessed, that to her 
lot has fallen the dire calamity of passing 
her wedded life in the rest and quietude of 
a home, entirely destitute of these little pets 
of the human species. 


181 


182 


OUR VISITORS. 


I already hear a chorus of voices echo 
“sour grapes,” but this mild retort is hardly 
sufficient in itself to deter me from relating 
some of my personal experiences while enter- 
taining friends, who, upon reading this story, 
will doubtless smite their breasts as did the 
“ publicans,” and thank their lucky stars that 
their children are not like other people’s. 
Now, these little troublesome comforts are 
all right in their proper places; but we aver 
that there is no place as suitable as their 
own home, until such time as they shall have 
reached the years of understanding, or at 
least have been properly trained, so as not 
to bring reproach upon their parents or 
guardians for not having sufficient force of 
character to control the junior members of 
their household. 

Not many years since, as the story-tellers 
say, one of my dearest friends, whom I had 
not seen for a long time, informed me by 
letter that she intended visiting me at no 
very distant day; at the same time announc- 
ing the fact that she should be obliged to 


OUR VISITORS. 


183 


bring the younger portion of her family 
along, asking if it would be convenient for 
me to receive them. Of course I anwered in 
the affirmative, quaking in my shoes at the 
prospect of our quiet home being invaded 
by a corps of juveniles, whose tender years 
were considered, by their mother, a reason- 
able excuse for their visitation, and in view 
of which I could hardly refrain from answer- 
ing that they were decidedly too young 
to be allowed dominion outside the nursery. 

Desiring, however, to evince a marked 
degree of genuine pleasure at the oppor- 
tunity thus afforded, for resuming an old- 
time friendship, I assumed a cheerful 
demeanor, and quietly set myself about the 
necessary arrangements for the entertain- 
ment of my expected guests. First, I 
shortened all the cords from which my pic- 
tures were suspended, elevating my pretty 
paintings until a landscape could hardly be 
distinguished from a portrait of Gen. Wash- 
ington. I then transferred every piece of 
statuary, that had heretofore ornamented my 


184 


OUR VISITORS. 


center tables, to the seclusion of a dark 
closet. My vases, card receiver, etc., together 
with my choicest books, photographic albums 
and stereoscopic views, were consigned to 
the top pantry shelves. > I also gathered up 
my sheet music, placing it inside the piano, 
and, after shutting down the cover and lock- 
ing the same, I was nonplussed to know 
where I could store my beautiful new 
“Steinway.” This I could not hide in the 
china closet, nor yet in a drawer of my dress- 
ing case, so, after having draped the legs in 
brown linen, and carefully covered the stool 
with the same, I drew a deep sigh, inwardly 
resolving that, should I ever be blessed with 
children of my own, I would restrict them to 
the limits of my own domicile. My flowers, 
of which I had but few, it being out of 
season for a variety, were also objects of 
deep solicitude. And my little black and 
tan terrier, for which I entertained the most 
profound admiration, also proved, for the 
time being, a source of anxiety. The latter, 
however, judging from past experience, was 


OUR VISITORS. 


185 


fully capable of self-defense, and I only 
hoped the enemy would suffer no more 
serious results from the impending skirmishes 
than had my poor little tortured pet, on 
previous occasions. Our home looked for- 
lorn, after having been stripped of all that 
various paraphernalia which had previously 
added so much to its attractiveness. But, 
looping up the curtains, I consoled myself 
with the thought that it was better thus 
than to risk the wholesale devastation that I 
was fully persuaded would overtake my 
household treasures, were they left in their 
proper places. 

On the day appointed for the arrival of 
my guests, I seated myself at the window, 
after having made a hasty toilet, and with a 
consciousness that all things were secure, 
anxiously awaited the arrival of the train 
upon which they were expected. As the 
carriage drove up I saw my husband alight, 
and soon my friend, with four little ones, the 
eldest having attained the mature age of 
eight years, were ushered into my presence. 


186 


OUR VISITORS. 


Nurse was there likewise, but was so unfor- 
tunate as to have but two eyes and two ears, 
with a corresponding number of hands. The 
mother had been my dearest friend in our 
girlhood days, and in the genuine pleasure 
of meeting after a long separation, we quite 
forgot the children, until reminded, by hear- 
ing a loud crash proceeding from the 
kitchen, that they had invaded “Bridget’s 
sanctuary.” 

Hastening thither, we found that, in the 
momentary absence of the servant, Master 
Johnnie had made a tour of the culinary 
department, and in so doing had overturned 
the water pail. This interesting young gen- 
tleman was completely submerged, and 
screaming at the top of his voice for assist- 
ance. The frightened mother came rushing 
frantically to the rescue, and, clasping him 
in her arms, returned thanks that he was not 
drowned; at the same time expressing regret 
at the limp and dilapidated appearance of 
his “bran new suit.” But I failed to dis- 
cover any traces of grief depicted upon 


OUR VISITORS. 


187 


other faces than my own for the utter ruina- 
tion of my handsome new floor mat, which 
had received the contents of the water pail 
(that is, the portion that “Johnnie” had 
escaped), and over which I had labored faith- 
fully for two successive weeks. 

Glad that nothing worse had occurred to 
disturb our equilibrium, we returned to the 
sitting-room, and were soon deeply engrossed 
in conversation, the children, in the mean- 
time, having been sent out with the nurse 
for a little ramble in the yard. We were 
soon interrupted, however, by “Susie,” a 
miss of four summers, who appeared upon 
the scene with her apron filled with my 
choicest heliotropes and calla lily, which, 
for several weeks, I had been endeavor- 
ing to nurse into blossom. These, with 
a poor little tea-rose bud that was just 
unfolding its delicate, wax-like petals, com- 
prised her floral treasures. I rushed into the 
dressing-room to hide my tears, and on pass- 
ing through the door overheard her mother 
admonish the child against plucking any 


188 


OUR VISITORS. 


more flowers, as ‘‘perhaps Auntie would a 
little rather not have them picked.^’ This 
injunction from mater familias was strictly 
adhered to, as there was not one bud remain- 
ing upon my few choice house plants. 

At the tea-table that evening I was called 
upon to devise some means whereby these 
youngsters could be seated. High chairs 
were an unknown luxury in my dwelling, 
consequently all the empty starch boxes and 
inverted stone jars, together with a large 
copy of Shakespeare, Webster’s Dictionary, 
and the family Bible were called into requi- 
sition. After the lapse of fifteen minutes, 
or more, these little urchins were seated, 
during which time the fried oysters and hot 
cakes had ample time to cool. 

Several other friends made their untimely 
appearance, and were, of course, asked to 
remain for tea. The invitation was accepted 
upon this particular occasion, doubtless in 
consequence of our milkman having failed 
to furnish the usual amount of cream, and 
likewise, I discovered, when too late to 


OUR VISITORS. 


189 


obtain more, that but one small can of fruit 
had escaped fermentation. Trying to make 
the best of the awkward situation, I winked 
at my husband to dish out the fruit sparingly, 
and commenced pouring the tea. My friend, 
thinking to aid me, insisted upon preparing 
the children’s tea herself. Passing her the 
cream, I noticed, to my horror, that she 
poured half the contents of the pitcher into 
^‘Johnnie’s” cup, and the remainder, with 
the exception of a few spoonfuls, was given 
to “Susie.” I watched the process of manu- 
facturing that beverage in breathless silence. 
I imagined that my other guests took in the 
situation, as neither of them “ever took 
cream in tea.” 

The peaches were gone before my husband 
had served all present, and I felt my cheeks 
burning when “Miss Susie” swallowed the 
last piece in her dish, and her indulgent 
mamma asked for “a very little more of the 
fruit,” adding “that her children were pas- 
sionately fond of peaches.” All things come 
to an end, and so did that supper, and with 


190 


OUR VISITORS. 


a flushed face I escorted my company to the 
drawing-room, sighing for the good old 
times when children were not expected to 
occupy seats at the first table, to the exclu- 
sion of their elders; and when a slice of 
bread and butter and a frolic on the lawn 
answered in place of the post of honor at 
the table, with a half dozen courses, and as 
many knives, forks, and spoons, accompanied 
with tea or colfee as the child’s taste dic- 
tates. 

But this was only the beginning of 
sorrows! The next day brought the same 
amount of trial and forbearance. 

My friend and I went out for a walk, leav- 
ing the children at home with the nurse, 
whom I had privately instructed not to leave 
them one moment alone, nor allow either of 
them to get out of her sight. On our return, 
after the lapse of half an hour or more, I 
found, to my chagrin, that a “foul” ball had 
made a flying leap through one of the parlor 
windows, breaking a pane of glass; and, 
while the nurse had followed little “Tom- 


OUB VISITOBS. 


191 


mie,” who took it into his head to try his 
dexterity at running a steamboat on the fish- 
pond, “Susie” and her younger sister had 
availed themselves of a bottle of ink, the 
contents of which they had poured upon my 
new moquette carpet. 

My friend manifested considerable con- 
sternation at the latter; but tried to console 
me by imparting the valuable information 
that there were certain preparations that 
would most likely remove all traces of the 
stain. 

I knew that a never-failing recipe would 
be to replace the soiled width with a new 
one, which I immediately resolved to do. 

The next thing that attracted their atten- 
tion was the locality of a bird’s nest, built in 
a honeysuckle which crept over a trellis near 
my window. This was an object of my 
supreme adoration! For three successive 
years this little feathered songster had never 
failed paying me its annual visit, building 
its nest and rearing its family in this par- 
ticular place. Finding that these young 


192 


OUR VISITORS. 


Anarchists were cognizant of the fact of its 
existence, I took them all out, and, after 
showing them the tiny blue eggs, I delivered 
a brief sermon, my text being the grave 
crime of destroying birds’ nests. I imagined 
that my eloquence on this occasion had taken 
deep root in the hearts of my hearers, for 
they, one and all, made a most solemn 
promise never to desecrate the sacred pre- 
cincts of a bird’s nest. I soon learned, how- 
ever, to my sorrow, that “to err is human,” 
for on my return from a ride one day I was 
attracted to the spot by the fluttering and 
chirping of my little pets, as they flitted 
from branch to branch in painful confusion. 
On a close observation I saw the little nest 
dangling from a broken vine, underneath 
which lay the tiny eggs, or what remained 
of them — broken shells. 

At the expiration of one week, which 
terminated my friend’s visit, 1 found that 
copious drafts had been made upon my small 
stock of patience. And I felt that it would 
require but little more to exhaust the entire 


OUK VISITORS, 


193 


stock on hand. I was somewhat mollified, 
however, when my friend informed me “ that 
never in her life had she enjoyed a visit so 
much, attributing her pleasure largely to the 
fact that her children had never made her 
so little trouble. But then her children 
were always good when away from home. 
Were they like most people’s children she 
should never think of taking them with her.” 
Pressing my hand warmly at parting, and 
with her eyes swimming in tears, she said: 
“You have a very beautiful home here, my 
dear, but it lacks the chief joy — ‘prattling 
tongues and tiny footsteps!’ But,” she 
added, “ ‘whom God loveth He chasteneth!’” 

These were comforting words, for I felt 
positive that I had found favor in the 
“Divine Eye.” After their departure, I 
provided myself with a bottle of cement 
and a quantity of furniture polish, and set 
myself at the rather unpleasant task of 
repairing damages. 

I gathered up the broken fragments of 
glass and china ware, mending them as best 


194 


OUR VISITORS. 


I could. My husband employed a glazier 
and a kalsominer, each one day; and after 
furnishing new hinges for the gate, erasing 
the caricatures from the front door and 
garden fence, and getting several chairs 
re-bottomed, we settled down to quiet life 
once more, resolving that it is not our duty 
to adopt “one or more children,” as our 
friend suggested. If blessings are withheld 
from us we believe it is for some wise pur- 
pose, and we shall try to be happy, and con- 
tent ourselves with an occasional visit from 
our youthful friends. 


A COLLOQUY. 


Two young maidens, fresh and fair. 
Sat beside a babbling brook. 

Spake the one with golden hair, 
“■Jessie, ’spoee we bait our hook? 
Look ye here— there’s John and Hank; 

Both have got it pretty bad. 

Now be honest, true and frank— 

Why, what makes you look so sad?”^ 

“Well, the fact is, Nelly dear. 

Of their love I’m not so sure; 

Hank sometimes gets on his ear. 

And his pranks I can^t endure. 

Why not angle in a stream 
Where you know you’ll get a bite? 
Time is precious — ^I’m eighteen. 

And my hair is turning white. 

“Now, you know that Charley Moore, 
With a mustache so divine. 

Took me to see ‘Pinafore.’ 

He’s my feller every time. 

And, besides, he’s got the sand — 

He can keep a wife in style. 

Offers me his heart and hand.” 

“Ah!” quoth Jessie, with a smile, 

“Then you’ve got a dead sure thing* 
Well, you'd better keep it, pet. 
When I find one I can trust. 

I’ll freeze to him, now, you beti 
But, pray, tell me just how long 
Since this honor was bestowed; 

You don’t think it would be wrong? 
Tell me, do! or I’ll explode. 

“Now, these chaps are mighty queer. 
And you can’t most always tell 
If a feller is sincere. 

Can you trust this city swell?” 


195 


“Well, I’ll tell you how it came 
(But, of course, don’t let it out). 

I don’t know as I’m to blame. 

If he’s mad, why let him shout! 

“’Twas upon one Sunday eve— 

We’d returned from Lincoln Park; 

Just before he took his leave— 

Well, you know the room was dark. 

And I can’t tell for my life 
Just the way he did begin. 

But I heard this, ‘Be my wife!’ 

♦ And I answered, ‘That’s too thin!’ 

“But, in less than half a jiff. 

He was kneeling at my feet. 

And began to whine and sniff, 

‘Oh! Take pity on me, sweet! 

Life ain't worth a picayune 
Without you, my queen of hearts! 

Say the latter part of June 
We launch our matrimonial bark.’ 

“So the answer I must give 
E’er another week goes by; 

And, as surely as I live, 

I don’t know how to reply; 

But I think that I’ll waltz in. 

And consent to cook his goose; 

For you see he’s got the ‘tin,’ 

Else I’d find some good excuse.” 

“Well, it must be pesky hard 
To decide a point like this; 

But you hold the winning card— 

So be brave and wade in, Sis! 

Here, old pard, I wish you luck; 

And, although a risk you take. 

Keep a good stiff upper lip : 

Here’s my hand! So good-bye! Shake!” 


WflSHlHGTOM LETTERS 



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WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


Washington, Jan. 18, 1878. 

Since the reassembling of Congress, Washing- 
ton seems to have donned her “ Sunday suit,” 
and the rush of richly-dressed pedestrians one 
meets in going to and from the Capitol and White 
House proves the fact that many others besides 
your correspondent are intent upon seeing “ the 
Lion.” Old residents claim that it is exceedingly 
dull here when Congress is not in session; conse- 
quently the social world avails itself of this glo- 
rious opportunity of seeing and being seen; while 
the wily boarding-house keeper lies in wait for her 
prey, and, baiting her silver hook with soft words 
and bewitching smiles, easily captures her unsus- 
pecting victim; and when once caught in the 
meshes of her silken web, no male member of 
society was ever known to escape until he had paid 
at least one month’s board in advance. 

One enters the Capitol for the first time with 
feelings akin to awe. The wide halls, marble 
floors, broad corridors and stately walls decorated 
with rare and elegant paintings, many of which 
are life-like representations of great and noble 
men, who long since mingled their ashes with 
mother earth— to tread, as it were, in the very 
footprints of Washington, Adams, Jefferson, and 


199 


200 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


their loog train of successors; to look upon every 
side and behold statues of Nature’s true noblemen, 
which stand as living witnesses of victories 
achieved; of heroic deeds, recorded in every heart 
as well as upon the annals of history— all this com- 
bined has a tendency to furnish food for solemn 
thought, and to produce feelings of reverence that 
are due the sanctuary rather than the halls of Con- 
gress. On being ushered into the Senate chamber 
we succeeded in procuring a front seat in the gal- 
lery, where we had an unobstructed view of that 
august body of law-makers. To look down upon this 
array of legal talent — to gaze upon these craniums 
supposed to contain such a vast amount of brains 
— in short, to feel that one is brought face to face 
with these headlights of the political world — 
causes us to close our eyes for the time being, and 
place a shield upon our brow to shut out the 
blinding rays. If I were an adept at drawing pen 
pictures, I should select Roscoe Conkling, of New 
York, as a subject worthy the admiration of even 
the “Old Masters.” His is a face, once seen, can 
never be forgotten. Tall in stature, well-formed, 
probably a man over whose head fifty winters 
have passed, but upon whose brow few traces are 
marked by the fingers of Time; his entire make-up 
is unmistakably stamped with the impress of 
power. What the Republican party lost in the 
death of Senator Morton must surely find its 
equivalent in the person of Roscoe Conkling. 

The Senators were nearly all in their respective 
seats, and a finer looking body of men would be 
hard to find. As a specimen we offer the Hon. 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


201 


William Windom, of Minnesota. Bruce, the col- 
ored member from Mississippi, is a man of fine 
physique, intellectual face, and gentlemanly de- 
portment, in fact, does credit to the African race. 
Senator Thurman, from Ohio, is a grand looking 
man, with a proud and determined air ; and the 
time-worn face of the Hon. Hannibal Hamlin, of 
Maine, although an ancient picture, is worth look- 
ing at. There is but little business of interest be- 
fore the Senate just now, and having satisfied our 
curiosity, will pay a brief visit to the House of 
Representatives. Here we find all is confusion. 
The number of members being nearly double that 
of the Senate, less order prevails, and the dignity 
so apparent in the Senate is lacking in the House. 
Speaker Randall occupies his accustomed seat, 
and is quietly engaged in writing. The majority 
of members appear to be holding a levee. Some 
are laughing and chatting; others, with their or- 
gans of locomotion elevated several degrees above 
zero, are perusing the daily paper, inwardly 
digesting the compliments paid their wives at the 
last reception, or silently contemplating their 
chances of promotion at the next election. On the 
House being called to order, we discover many 
vacant seats. A little sparring takes place be- 
Ween Garfield and Fernando Wood, upon some 
question that is being hashed up and warmed over. 
A few home thrusts elevate the “dander” on the 
heads of some others, and a general war ensues. 
After the smoke clears away, and the wounded 
and dying are cared for, we learn that a vote is 
being taken upon this evidently all-absorbing 


202 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


question. But alas! the decimated ranks need re- 
inforcements! Messengers are dispatched in all 
directions to discover, if possible, the rendezvous 
of these absentees. Directly they came pouring in 
from all quarters, some apparently intent on busi- 
ness, while the majority come sauntering along, 
with their hands in their pockets, or else giving their 
silken beard a digital combing, seemingly uncon- 
scious that they are representative men, sent here 
by the people, for the purpose of looking after their 
country’s needs. The vote was taken, however, in 
the usual form of yeas and nays, but some dissatis- 
faction seems to necessitate a count, and after brac- 
ing up manfully one against another, they manage 
to go through the tiresome process of being counted. 
Their services being no longer required they filed 
out again, probably in search of some more congen- 
ial pastime. Gen. Garfield seemed thoroughly in 
earnest, as did Fernando Wood and Cox, of New 
York. But we came to the conclusion that they were 
on special duty, while those who were averse to tak- 
ing an active part, and reluctantly granted their 
presence, were simply enjoying their ^‘off day.” 
The painful scene is the crippled and emaciated 
form of Alexander Stephens, of Georgia, who 
seems to have but little use of any organ, save the 
brain, and is wheeled about in a little cart by one 
of his servants. 

After a few closing speeches, the House ad- 
journed until the following week, which will en- 
able the members to recuperate from the enervat- 
ing duties incumbent upon them. Verily, a few 
days among the scenes, where “distance lends en- 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


203 


chantment,” is sufficient to loosen the scales, 
which would doubtless drop from the eyes, were 
we to go behind the curtains. 

We were present at some of the meetings of the 
Woman Suffragists, who held their convention 
here a few days since, occupying Lincoln Hall. 
Conspicuous among them were Elizabeth Cady 
Stanton, Matilda Jocelyn Gage, Dr. Mary Thomp- 
son, Isabella Beecher Hooker, Dr. Mary Walker, 
and others. The last-named individual can hardly 
be classed among women suffragists. Judging 
from her dress, I should define her as “he, she or 
it,” quite as likely to be one as the other. The 
abuse and inuendoes which these crazy-headed 
fanatics heaped upon the government and its 
leaders was a disgrace to the hall that bears the 
honored name of Lincoln, and we half expected to 
see the dead martyr appear as a reproach to this 
lawless band of termagants. The pernicious in- 
fluence of this howling mob upon the minds of 
weak women is deplorable, and a direct means of 
sowing broadcast the seeds of discord, which 
have already taken root, and are bearing fruit in 
many otherwise happy homes. Dr. Mary Walker 
identifies herself with this dissatisfied band of fe- 
male politicians, much to their chagrin and morti- 
fication, as her manner of dress and public expres- 
sion of odious and obnoxious sentiments make her 
the subject of ridicule, and evidently detracts from 
the possibility of that doubtful wreath of laurels 
with which they hope at no distant day to crown 
their aspiring heads. 

President Hayes’ first reception of the season 


204 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


was held on Thursday evening, the 14th inst., 
from 8 to 10. These receptions are exceedingly 
democratic in their nature; a place where old and 
young, rich and poor, the plebeian and patrician, 
unite in paying their compliments to the Chief 
Magistrate. Being present at this reception, I 
took down a few items which may be of interest to 
your readers. Commencing at eight o’clock a 
dense throng crowded the entrance and halls, 
making it extremely difficult to reach the state 
dining room, which was used as ladies’ dressing 
room. On leaving this apartment, each lady and 
gentleman was obliged to fall into the rear of the 
line of march. The crowd moved on slowly, enter- 
ing first the Bed Room, through which they 
passed into the Blue Room, where they gave 
their names and were presented to the President 
by his son “Webb,” and to Mrs. Hayes by Col. 
Carey. 

The personal appearance of the President is not 
particularly striking, yet he is possessed of a kind, 
genial face, which beams with sympathy and good 
nature. Mrs. Hayes was richly attired in a white 
silk and velvet dress, demi-train, a la polonaise 
Her raven hair was arranged in a style peculiar to 
herself, and best calculated to show off her broad, 
intellectual forehead. A heavy Grecian coil at the 
back, confined by a shell comb, and the front hair 
brushed down severely plain, with a small finger 
puff back of each ear. No jewel or flower adorned 
her person upon this occasion, save a large brooch 
that held in position the rich folds of lace that en- 
circled her throat. Her tout ensemble was a model 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


205 


of elegance and simplicity, but, I am sorry to say, 
she finds but few followers among the Washington 
belles. Both President and Mrs. Hayes wore a 
smile of well-feigned pleasure at the manifest an- 
noyance of being compelled to stand for two con- 
secutive hours while that vast multitude filed by 
in a continuous stream, many of whom grasped 
the extended hand of the President, and, in their 
delight at the honor conferred upon them for the 
first time, tugged away like a thirsty school-boy at 
a frozen pump-handle. One young lady exclaimed 
as she took his proffered hand, ‘‘Why, you are the 
first President with whom I ever shook hands!” 
Mr. Hayes answered with a smile, “I am happy, 
indeed, to be the first.” Passing on into the East 
Room we find it closely packed with representa- 
tives of all the different classes of society. The 
wives of foreign diplomats and Cabinet Ministers, 
resplendent in rare laces, and illuminated by flash- 
ing diamonds, present a striking contrast to the 
pale-faced, careworn woman, who is wearing her 
life away in the foul air of one of the departments, 
or perhaps earned the neat alpaca dress in which 
she is clad by making button holes at one cent 
apiece, the price paid in Washington. Among the 
distinguished persons pointed out to us were Sec- 
retary Evarts, Chief Justice Waite and wife, Carl 
Schurz, Postmaster General Key, Gen. Sherman, 
Madame Mantilla, wife of the Spanish Minister, 
who, by the way, was the cynosure of all eyes, 
being particularly distinguished for her rare jewels 
and elegance of dress; besides many others, of 
which time and space forbid making mention. 


206 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


The Marine Band was in attendance, and at the 
hour of ten the signal of dismissal was given by 
the appearance of the President with Mrs. Hayes 
upon his arm, and as they passed through the East 
Eoom the band struck up the suggestive air of 
“ Home, Sweet Home,” which was a welcome sound 
to all, judging from the grand rush in the direction 
of the cloak room. But having already written a 
much longer letter than I intended, will bid you 

All revoir. 


Washington, Feb. 11, 1878. 

Within the last two weeks Washington has been 
the scene of many events of more than ordinary 
interest; yet all are of minor importance compared 
with the grand display witnessed at the funeral of 
the late Victor Emanuel. This celebration in 
honor of Italy’s dead King took place at St. Aloy- 
sius church, and was attended by all the pomp 
and grandeur necessary to impress upon the 
American mind the awful magnitude of this sol- 
emn occasion. A large catafalque covered with 
white satin and black cloth was placed near the 
altar, surrounded with burning candles. The 
Italian colors of green, white and red, together 
with rare flowers, manufactured into garlands, 
crowns and crosses, were displayed upon every 
side. The American colors floating from the pew 
of President Hayes and from various other points, 
together with the charm of beholding the Foreign 
Legation in their full regulation court costumes, 
with the awe-inspiring Requiem Mass, rendered in 
such pathetic strains, made the occasion one long 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


207 


to be remembered. Hundreds of people remained 
outside, unable to effect an entrance, but all wore a 
look of satisfaction at having seen what they could^ 
except one poor old lady who “didn’t think a funeral 
amounted to very much where they refused to 
show the remains.” Marriage bells followed close 
in the train of these funeral rites, and the evening 
of the following day witnessed at Wormley’s Hotel 
the celebration of the wedding of King Alfonso, of 
Spain, to the Princess Mercedes, the Spanish 
Minister and his wife presiding. This assembly 
was made up of the elite, and is considered the 
great society event of the season, as the superb 
dresses, magnificent laces, jewels, etc., worn by the 
ladies upon this occasion far surpassed anything 
heretofore seen in Washington this season. Mrs. 
Hayes’ receptions, held every Saturday afternoon 
from 3 to 5 o’clock, are largely attended and are 
of an exceedingly brilliant character. As the hour 
approaches the grounds and driveways leading to 
the Executive Mansion are densely packed with 
gaily caparisoned equipages, many of which, on 
being unburdened of their freight at the front en- 
trance, display a motley throng of shoddy aristo- 
cracy. The ostentation and vulgar pretense of the 
would be nobility is simply disgusting, and a scene 
well calculated to disabuse the mind of the erron- 
eous doctrine that “noble animals may be produced 
from scrub stock.” Being present at the last re- 
ception, we were enabled to make a close observa- 
tion of the surroundings in general, and of Mrs. 
Hayes in particular. Contrary to the usual cus- 
tom’ she received in the East Boom, the immense 


208 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


size of which renders it a more fitting place, as the 
crowd heretofore in the Blue Room made access 
insufferable and retreat impossible. Mrs. Hayes 
was assisted upon this occasion by the wife of 
Gen. Dawes, of Massachusetts, her guests, as be- 
fore, being presented by Col. Carey. She was un- 
pretentiously, but richly, attired in a wine-colored 
dress of silk and velvet, cut demi-train, elbow 
sleeves, square neck, filled in and around with 
puffs and ruches of rich old lace. Her only orna- 
ments were a cluster of full blown tea roses, half 
hidden in the folds of lace, and an elegant chain 
necklace, from which depended a heavy gold 
cross. These, together with long buttoned white 
kids and a tea rose in her hair, completed her 
toilet. Mrs. Dawes wore a light drab silk, full 
train, trimmed in black thread lace, and flowers in 
her hair. The toilets of these two distinguished 
ladies were quite modest in comparison to the 
gorgeous apparel that adorns the devotees of 
fashion who assemble at these receptions. During 
a brief conversation with Mrs. Hayes, one perceives 
that she possesses a cultivated mind, also a vast 
amount of assurance, and would be perfectly self- 
reliant under all circumstances. Bright, natural 
and vivacious, she puts one perfectly at ease, and 
her manner of addressing strangers is charming in 
its simplicity. In her social position she strikes one 
as an extraordinary woman, from the fact that she 
is wholly devoid of those hollow society manners 
that have characterized many of her predecessors. 
The estimation in which she is held by the stern 
sex, may be judged from a remark recently made 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


209 


by a well-knowD politician. While gazing at a 
picture of her, which hangs in a reception room 
at the Capitol, he exclaimed, in his enthusiastic 
admiration : “ There hangs a picture of the Presi- 
dent of the United States.” Whether this remark 
will be regarded as a compliment by our Chief 
Magistrate is somewhat questionable. It may ap- 
pear a little strange to those who are unaccustomed 
to Washington society, to learn that the prevailing 
custom is for strangers to take ihe initiative step 
toward an acquaintance, rather than wait until 
they are sought out and gradually drawn into the 
mazy vortex of fashionable life. The fact, how- 
ever, that this is a time- honored custom, relieves 
the embarrassment that would otherwise follow; 
and the cordial manner in which strangers are re- 
ceived when calling upon the families of Cabinet 
Ministers, Senators and Representatives, as well as 
Foreign Diplomats, confirms the fact that social 
life in Washington is unlike that of any other city in 
the United States. Wednesdays, being the recep- 
tion days of the Cabinet ladies, the streets present 
a lively appearance, as the carriages roll over the 
smooth pavements in close succession, heavily 
freighted with costly velvets, silks and laces, to- 
gether with gold and precious stones, bismuth and 
carmines — and occasionally may be found those 
rare curiosities known in ancient times as heart 
and brains. In paying our respect to these distin- 
guished ladies, we were graciously received and 
charmingly entertained by the wives of Secre- 
taries Evarts, Sherman, McCrary and Thompson, 
and the lovely daughters of Carl Schurz, who, it is 


210 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


said, partake largely of the sweet characteristics 
and noble virtues of their deceased mother. These 
ladies, with their assistants, were in full dress, 
presenting all the attractions of Worth’s temple of 
art. Their stately drawing-rooms were redolent 
with rare exotics of luxuriant growth, and the dis- 
play of cut flowers — many of which were the com- 
plimentary gift of Mrs. Hayes— were sufficient in 
themselves to afford a pleasing subject for conver- 
sation. Having been presented to the hostess and 
those who assist her in receiving, we managed to 
get through with five minutes’ small talk, after 
which we were ushered into the dining-hall, where 
we find a table laden with an abundance of tempt- 
ing viands, consisting chiefly of tropical fruits, de- 
licious cakes and sandwiches, with coffee and 
chocolate. We usually found from fifteen to thirty 
guests at each place, the majority of whom were 
ladies, although many gentlemen of rank and title 
avail themselves of these opportunies of creating a 
hope in the susceptible heart of some fair sister. 
On being marshalled through the wide halls, 
down the marble steps, and over the carpeted 
walks leading from these palatial mansions to 
our carriage, we had simply a dim and shadowy 
recollection of beautiful ladies enshrouded 
in royal robes, of waiters with dusky faces 
and immaculate gloves, of delicious fruits, and 
rare flowers, costly bronzes, Turkish carpets, 
and rare old paintings. But, better than all, we 
had a sweet consciousness that these angelic creat- 
ures of whom we once in our overdrawn imagin- 
ation pictured as ethereal beings, are simply of 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


211 


human origin, and apparently manufactured from 
soil no richer in natural endowment than that of 
many others who meekly tread the humble walks 
of life. In visiting the Capitol one day, we over- 
heard, in one of the reception rooms, an amusing 
conversation, which took place between Dr. Mary 
Walker and a lady visitor. The doctor presented 
a very masculine appearance as she sat with her 
right foot gracefully perched upon her left knee. 
She scrutinized her victim closely before making 
an assault, when suddenly a flank movement 
brought her close to the side of her stranger friend. 
She inherits, from some source, enough womanly 
instinct to enable her to search out the weak points 
in her frailer sisters, and make the attacks accord- 
ingly. In the course of a few moments' conversa- 
tion she adroitly informed the lady that her beauty, 
if she ever possessed any, had gone into bank- 
ruptcy. She attributed the cause solely to the 
present style of dress, which she declared to be 
ruinous to the health and happiness, as well as the 
personal appearance of the female race. As a 
means of regaining what was irretrievable in any 
other way, she insisted that ladies should adopt 
the style of dress worn by herself, which consists 
of a pair of pantaloons of the latest fashion, a 
jaunty little hat and cane, and a most marvelous 
outside wrap, which is a cross between a petticoat 
and a “swallow-tail." The persecuted lady seemed 
to hesitate somewhat, when the wily female prac- 
titioner approached us and applied the thumb 
screws. After airing her powers of eloquence by 
setting forth her doctrine in a bewitching manner,. 


212 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


and having wrung from us the humiliating con- 
fession that to woman’s^anity alone belonged the 
evils of lame backs and weak stomachs, she seemed 
to take it as granted that she had secured one 
more convert. With a smile and a wink, she asked, 
or rather demanded our name to be placed upon 
her subscription list for a book, of which she was 
the author, and as a compliment which she seldom 
bestowed, she would read a few extracts of her 
manuscript, which she felt sure would secure the 
sale of the book. Not being particularly partial to 
that kind of reading matter, we very respectfully 
declined to subscribe for the book, but solemnly 
promised to interview “ Barrie ” upon our return 
home. 

A few days since, we, with a small party of 
pleasure seekers, visited Mount Vernon. As we 
sat out on the guards of the little steamer “ Ar- 
row,” that makes daily trips to this point, and 
gazed in admiration upon the broad bosom of the 
Potomac, our mind reverted back to those three 
long dreary years of anarchy and bloodshed. To 
the time when our brave Minnesota boys fought 
so nobly upon the green banks of this grand old 
stream, in defense of a nation’s honor. And the 
feelings of pride that swelled our hearts were min- 
gled with pain as each related his or her sad ex- 
perience, and reviewed the dark days of long ago, 
when every newspaper paragraph was carefully 
perused to learn some tidings, if possible, of the 
loved son or brother, who belonged to the ‘‘ Grand 
Army of the Potomac.” 

Arriving at our destination, we go at once to the 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


213 


tomb of Washington, that being the chief attrac- 
tion for strangers. This is simply a large brick 
vault, with heavy double iron doors, through the 
bars of which we can look upon the sarcophagus 
that contains all that is mortal of the Father of our 
Nation. At the side of this, stands another scarcely 
less elegant in which rests the mortal remains of 
Martha Washington. The American eagle carved 
in marble, ornaments the former; and a dark stain 
which blots the pages of history, is the fact that, 
during the war, some unknown person effected an 
entrance to this vault by climbing over the doors — 
a most difficult feat to perform— and desecrated the 
spot by breaking off a portion of the foot of this 
sacred emblem. This is the only attempt at vio- 
lence ever known to have been made upon the 
tomb of Washington. In close proximity stand 
several stately monuments, erected to the memory 
and bearing the names of different members of the 
Washington family. The mansion in which this 
honored hero lived and died is a wooden structure 
of that ancient style of architecture known only to 
the “ Old Fathers.” It is well kept up, as are all 
its surroundings, and contains many relics both 
novel and interesting. Among them is a harpsi- 
chord, said to be two hundred years old, a wedding 
gift from Gen. Washington to his adopted daugh- 
ter. A small case was hanging upon the wall, con- 
taining a key of the “ Bastile.” This key is said 
to have been placed there by Washington’s own 
hand and never since removed. It was greatly 
prized by him, being a present from Gen. La Fay- 
ette after the destruction of the famous French 


214 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


prison in 1789. A large case with glass doors, con- 
taining many ancient relics, was on exhibition, one 
only of which we have time to make mention. This 
was a letter, the date of which was obliterated by 
time, but enough of its contents were left for us to 
decipher the fact that at some time in the life of 
our first President he was engaged in the wheat 
business. And on ascertaining that he had made 
a transfer of some of that product to a Baltimore 
man, recommending it to grade No. 1, and after- 
ward learning that it was impregnated with some 
foreign matter (before unknown to him) which 
slightly detracted from its market value, he has- 
tened to inform the parties of the seemingly fraud- 
ulent transaction, and begged the privilege of 
making amends, offering to stand the loss himself 
should it grade No. 2. This story I give for the 
benefit of wheat dealers in the Northwest, to whom 
it will doubtless seem as incredulous as did the 
story of the “ little hatchet ” to us in our child- 
hood days. 


Washington, March 1, 1878. 

As the time draws near when the Lenten season 
will cloud the horizon of social life and awaken 
many who have become idlers in the Lord’s vine- 
yard to the necessity of carefully weeding out the 
garden of the heart, we find that each day swells 
the list of party invitations, and the little remain- 
ing time ere the “ pomps and vanities ” are called 
upon to clothe themselves with the mantle of hu- 
mility, is regarded as the last link in the chain of 
earthly enjoyment. Each bright^ particular star 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


215 


in the fashionable world is struggling to eclipse its 
neighbor, and evidently jealous of the light which 
may chance to be shed abroad by a more luminous 
orb. 

Among the notable social events of the past week 
was the reception given by the Secretary of State, 
and Mrs. Evarts. This was a very grand affair, 
and in many respects far surpassed any entertain- 
ment in which we have participated since coming 
to the capital. 

The honor conferred by a card of invitation, we 
reluctantly confess, was divided equally among 
Uvo thousand people, making the portion which 
we so proudly record upon the annals of our life’s 
history of infinitesimal dimensions. 

Time usually passes only too rapidly amid the 
gay and festive scenes of Washington life, but 
upon this occasion we impatiently counted the 
days that must intervene before we should realize 
our bright anticipations. The hour came at last 
and with it the carriage that was to convey us to 
the hospitable mansion of the distinguished states- 
man. Upon reaching the same we found that a 
long line of carriages preceded ours, and as those 
in the rear closed in upon us, we were fearful that 
our vehicle would be telescoped by the aristocratic 
steeds that appeared to be familiar with the prem- 
ises and looked their disgust as they proudly arched 
their necks, champed their bits and flashed their 
gold-mounted harness in the bright gaslight, appar- 
ently annoyed at being compelled to keep their 
queens of fashion veiled from sight until we lesser 
lights were disposed of. We were finally ushered in 


216 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


and up the broad staircase to the ladies’ dressing 
room, where hundreds were already assembled, 
filling the halls and every other available space. 
After giving a finishing touch to our toilet, we de- 
scended to the parlors, where we were presented to 
the host and hostess by an individual who called out 
the name as he announced the visitor in the most 
vociferous manner, intending to inform the entire 
crowd when a notable arrived, and subject the few 
unfortunates who claimed no title to distinction to 
the mortification of having the fact proclaimed to 
all present. 

Secretary and Mrs. Evarts received their guests 
in a quiet, dignified manner, bestowing upon each 
and all their smiles and pleasant words, as if the 
stock on hand were inexhaustible. The former is a 
thin, spare man, with a bright, intellectual face, 
pleasing manners, and whose tout ensemble 
strongly reminded us of Mr. Joseph A. Prentiss of 
Winona. Mrs. Evarts is a plump, handsome 
woman, with bright, sparkling eyes, and a wealth of 
beautiful gray hair, which was arranged in a most 
becoming style. She was attired in black, and 
bore in her hand an exquisite bouquet of rare flow- 
ers. The usual amount of jamming and pushing 
took place which is attendant upon occasions 
where two thousand people are invited to apart- 
ments that can barely accommodate five hundred. 
Many of the ladies, for fear of damaging the waists 
and sleeves of their superb dresses, took the pre- 
caution to leave them at home, which evidently de- 
tracted somewhat from the pleasure of the gentle- 
men, who manifested a good deal of embarrass- 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


217 


ment, as they blushingly gazed at the naked busts, 
necks and arms of those over-sensitive and pain- 
fully modest divinities, who made ineffectual at- 
tempts to veil their charms from public view, by 
improvising screens out of fans, bouquets and hand- 
kerchiefs, which they held up in the most bewitch- 
ing and tantalizing manner imaginable. These 
scenes are beyond description, and would hardly , 
be tolerated iu the drawing room of a western 
lady, no matter how devout a worshiper she might 
be at the shrine of fashion. To those who are un- 
accustomed to this style of undress, it is simply 
shocking, and we wonder that such absurd fash- 
* ions can possibly find favor in the eyes of ladies 
who bear evidence of culture and refinement. 
Among the distinguished persons present were Sir 
Edward Thornton, Carl Schurz and daughters, 
Secretary and Mrs. McCrary, General Burnside, 
General Sherman, Senator Blaine, Ben Butler, the 
Spanish and Japanese ministers with their wives, 
Mrs. Gen. Gaines, and many others. During the 
entire evening ref reshments were being served, and 
at an early hour many took their departure, owing 
to the fact that several other receptions were held 
the same evening, and they doubtless desired to 
honor all with their presence. Among that num- 
ber was Ben Butler. Consequently if any spoons 
were missing he can doubtless prove an alibi. All 
kinds of entertainments, both amusing and instruc- 
tive, are only too numerous, and we regret our in- 
ability to be in two places at the same time. 

The fine lectures delivered here within the past 
few weeks have been a true source of enjoyment. 


218 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


and we are happy to state that the Hon. Geo. K. 
Wendling of Illinois, in a reply to Bob Ingersoll’s 
lecture on “Hell,” completely “chewed up” his 
antagonist and left his lifeless form a quivering 
mass of lacerated flesh. The latter delivered his 
lecture upon this all-absorbing topic some time 
since, and as our orthodox mind was somewhat 
distracted by the disagreement of great minds upon 
the subject, we were disappointed in not being 
better able to settle the question for ourselves, 
after having heard the Colonel’s discourse upon 
his future home. The great orator never tires 
narrating his experience upon that memorable 
Sunday afternoon, when, with pockets filled with 
marbles, he watched the receding rays of the sun, 
which was a signal of release to those young pris- 
oners, or would be, when it imprinted upon their 
cheeks its good-night kiss. The subsequent course 
of the aforementioned “ Bob ” annihilates the doc- 
trine that “as the twig is bent the tree inclines.” 

Murphy, the great temperance agitator, is labor- 
ing just now in this wicked vineyard, and is said 
to be very successful in impressing the important 
truths upon the hearts of his hearers. We were 
somewhat surprised, however, a short time since, 
on learning that one of his converts was seen rush- 
ing down the avenue at break-neck speed, monop- 
olizing the entire sidewalk, while his badge of 
reformation had become detached at one end, and 
full two yards of blue ribbon was seen proudly sail- 
ing in the wind, to the astonishment of all behold- 
ers. A comrade attempted to rescue him from the 
jeers and taunts of the rabble that pursued him, 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


219 


when he boisterously shouted: Lem-me go! (hie!) 
I’m off for Murphy meetin’ (hie!). Zat man ’s a 
powerful influenee over me (hie!) Three eheers 
fo’ Murphy an’ temperanee! ’Kah!” 

In ealling upon the wives of senators we did our- 
selves the honor to eall upon Mrs. Windom, who is 
quietly settled in her new and elegant home on 
Vermont avenue. She looked very charming in 
her wine-colored silk, garnished with lace and 
flowers. It was her reception day an d her well-filled 
card-receiver attested her popularity. She spoke 
of her strong attachment for her Winona friends 
and appeared to still retain an interest in her Min- 
nesota home. Upon leaving these pleasant apart- 
ments we overheard the following remark: “Wi- 
nona can boast of one handsome lady.” We smiled 
gushingly, and were in the act of bowing our ac- 
knowledgment of the compliment, when suddenly 
our cup of happiness was upset by the additional 
sentence: “ Mrs. Windom is the most beautiful 
woman we have called upon to-day.” Alas! how 
very easy it is to mistake one’s meaning. 

We also called upon the wife of Senator Blaine, 
where we were cordially received by that lady and 
Miss Dodge, cousin of Mr. Blaine, better known as 
‘ Gail Hamilton.” 

The former is a tall, queenly-looking woman, of 
rare fascination, and as one observes her grace of 
manner, as she moves about her luxuriant home, 
they are disposed to regard her as a very suitable 
person to adorn the parlors of the White House. 
Of the bright, chatty little authoress we can only 
say, although not at all prepossessing in her per- 


220 


WASHINGTON LETTERS. 


sonal appearance, she is endowed with rare con- 
versational powers, which make her very attractive, 
especially to her gentlemen friends, who, notwith- 
standing the missiles which she recklessly hurls 
at their devoted heads, swarm around her like 
honey-bees on a buckwheat field. 

We completed our calling tour by paying our 
respects to Mary Clemmer. This charming lady 
owns a fine brick residence on Capitol Hill, and 
together with her mother and sister is apparently 
leading a quiet and happy life. She wore, upon 
this occasion, a pale- blue dress of some fine, soft 
material, which was elaborately trimmed with bows 
of ribbon of the same delicate shade. Her beauty 
was somewhat enhanced by a tiny white lace cap, 
which was placed upon her head in a coquettish 
manner, giving her face a very youthful appear- 
ance. She is still unable to walk without the aid 
of a crutch, not having fully recovered from the 
recent accident which befell her while out riding 
with her friend, “ Jenny June” (Mrs. Croley). 

Doubtless the readers of the Republican are 
well informed in regard to the excitement at the 
capital during the agitation of the ‘‘ silver ques- 
tion,” and everything we might add would be 
superfiuous; therefore we will leave them to draw 
upon their own imagination. But to those who 
were so unfortunate as not to be present, and who 
wish to form a correct idea of a scene in the House 
the day the silver bill passed that House of Con- 
gress, we would respectfully refer them to the 
Board of Trade in Chicago, during a wheat panic. 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS 



f 



HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


Hot Springs, Ark., Jan. 29, 1877. 

Thinking some of the readers of the Republican 
might be interested in a brief sketch of the exper- 
ience of a Winonian at the Hot Springs of Arkan- 
sas, allow us the privilege of sending them a few 
lines through the columns of your paper. 

We arrived in this quaint little town of about 
3,500 inhabitants (not including the visitors) on 
the 28th ultimo. We reached Malvern at 4 o’clock 
a. m., where we changed from the Iron Mountain 
to the Little Hot Springe railroad, owned by 
“ Diamond Joe.” We fully expected to be landed 
in a bed of roses, but to our unbounded astonish- 
ment, were told by the worthy conductor to put 
on our leg gins, as it was snowing furiously outside, 
and on stepping out upon the platform we realized 
one of the few delusions of the “ Sunny South ” — 
snow six inches deep, mercury 4® above zero. Of 
course, having lived several years in Minnesota, 
this had a tendency to give us a home-like feeling. 
We were, however, soon ensconced in one of “Dia- 
mond Joe’s” little palace cars and being rapidly 
whirled away toward our destination, where we ar- 
rived safely in about one hour from the time we left 
Malvern. We tried several hotels before finding 
one to suit us in all respects (being very fastidious 


223 


224 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


in our taste), and finally took rooms at the Arling- 
ton — a very wise thing to do, as we have since 
learned. 

This hotel is a very large, commodious wooden 
building, intended to accommodate about 250 
guests. It is a new house, well and handsomely 
furnished, and the table is calculated to satisfy the 
wants of the “ inner ” man. There are other good 
hotels here, however, besides the Arlington, and 
also many pleasant and desirable boarding houses. 
The Grand Central, Hot Springs, Waverly and 
Avenue are all considered first-class, with prices 
ranging from S40 to SlOOper month. Good accom- 
modations may be procured at private boarding 
houses much cheaper. There are about 150 guests 
at this hotel, and many new arrivals registered 
every morning. I find nearly all the gentlemen 
have a ‘‘ Col.” or “ Capt.” attached to their name. 
Among our guests is a young lady who claims the 
honor of a relationship with Gov. Tilden. It is my 
impression if this young lady were to visit Winona, 
we should find many young Tilden men even in the 
Republican ranks. There was considerable con- 
sternation manifested a few days since by the arri- 
val of a detachment of the 23d regiment. 

One nervous old lady rushed out on the street, 
declaring there was to be another “ Yankee wah.” 
We began to think that a mule and musket might 
not be out of place, but soon learned that the sol- 
diers were only here to assist the Government Re- 
ceiver, if necessary, in collecting rents from those 
who had “squatted” on lands belonging to the 
government. The colored people are very amusing 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


225 


to one who is unaccustomed to their peculiarities. 
A bright little girl, of perhaps seventeen summers, 
to whom we had endeared ourselves by giving her 
sundry bright ribbons and ties, met us the other 
day walking with a gentleman friend. She shoved 
her tongue into one cheek and, with a chuckle, 
said, “ Beaux cornin’ roun’ ; I’ll tell ole man.” An- 
other little circumstance happening during our 
“cold snap” seemed rather ludicrous.” A snow 
storm is almost an unheard of thing here, conse- 
quently the people (like the “ Arkansas Traveler ”) 
have no provisions made for such emergencies. 
Nearly all the hotels ran out of fuel. I heard a 
lady ask a colored boy to replenish the fire, as it 
was getting cold in the room. He replied, “ Hain’t 
got any wood!” She requested him to saw some, 
when he curtly said, “ S’pose a fellah will saw wood 
when it snows? Wouldn’t do it fo’ five dollahs a 
day.” We presume this “ darkey ” had been “ bull- 
dozed ” and did not intend to be put through that 
process again. 

The springs are a great curiosity, and judging 
from the personal experience of many who have 
given them *a fair trial, there must certainly be 
something very powerful in their healing properties. 

A gentleman from Tennessee came here a few 
weeks since on crutches, having beeu unable to 
walk a step in seven months, and after using these 
waters three weeks, laid aside his crutches and 
used only a cane, and one week ago I saw him 
shaking the “fantastic toe ” at one of our “ hops.” 
He is now able to go about without the aid of cane 
or crutch. 


226 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


The weather for the past few weeks has been 
very damp, raining most of the time. At present 
it is delightfully warm; about what we might rea- 
sonably expect the last of May in Minnesota. 

The scenery in this little spur of the Ozark 
Mountains is wild and romantic. I hardly think 
there is an acre of arable land within three miles 
of the town. The mountains are covered with 
huge boulders, tall pines interspersed with the 
mistletoe and holly, the latter bearing bright, scar- 
let berries. Occasionally, as we wander around 
through the ravines, we find a negro shanty, from 
which will emerge about twenty little wooly heads. 
As we go out for our evening walk and see the 
women working out of doors, the little children 
making ‘‘ mud pies,’^ and the violets and crocuses 
blooming beneath our feet, we drop a sympathetic 
tear for the loved ones at home, and make an inef- 
fectual attempt to get up some enthusiasm for the 
“ beautiful snow.” 

Yesterday we attended St. Luke’s. Episcopal 
church, and were pleased to see a respectable look- 
ing edifice, and on entering found it bore quite a 
churchly appearance, having been prettily decora- 
ted with evergreens, mottoes, etc., for the Christmas 
festivities. The attendance was rather large, being 
composed mostly of visitors. I think there are 
but few church people belonging here. There is 
quite a large Sunday school, and the ladies’ socia- 
ble meets weekly at some one of the hotels. I was 
told that the church was in a comparatively flour- 
ishing condition, and also that it owed its present 
state of prosperity largely to our beloved Bishop 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


227 


Whipple, who was untiring in his efforts to aid 
and assist them during his brief stay at the 
Hot Springs about three years ago. The music 
was exceedingly fine, the best we have listened to 
for many a day, but we hope the members of St. 
Paul’s choir will console themselves, as did the 
Ked Caps, that they were only beaten by a “ picked 
nine,” (all professionals), from the whole United 
States. 


Hot Springs, Ark., Feb. 25, 1877. 

As the season advances, we find ourselves in the 
noise and bustle of a fashionable summer resort. 
Every hotel, boarding house and saloon is filled to 
overflowing, and on the arrival of each train guests 
are sent away from the Arlington for want of 
more room. We find that not only invalids visit 
this modern Bethesda, but a large portion of 
the wealth and fashion from all parts of the United 
States assemble here annually for curiosity, pleas- 
ure and recreation. 

Since the land, so long in litigation, has been 
conceded to the Government, improvements of all 
kinds have been rapidly progressing. 

A large and commodious bath-house is in course 
of construction over what is known as the “ Big 
Iron Spring,” and throughout the entire valley 
business and dwelling houses are undergoing 
repairs, besides many new ones being built. Those 
who have heretofore been unable to obtain a title 
to the land upon which their improvements were 
made now seem very sanguine that Government 


228 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


will deal justly and generously with them, conse- 
quently there is a wonderful revival in the busi- 
ness interests of the town. 

The Hot Springs, which number fifty-eight (a 
new one having been recently discovered), are of 
temperatures ranging from 90® to 150® Fahrenhei.t 

The medicinal properties of these springs are said 
not to differ very materially, the principal elements 
contained therein being silicates with base, iron, 
magnesia, alum, lime, etc. The popular “ Arsenic 
Spring,” which has gained such wide-spread noto- 
riety among the ladies as the “ fountain of youth 
and beauty,” is found, by careful analysis to con- 
tain very little, if any, of that precious ingredient, 
therefore is not as zealously sought after as when 
supposed to be strongly impregnated with this 
wonderful beautifier. However strange it may 
seem, these hot, thermal waters are, by most peo- 
ple, after a little time, guzzled down with an ap- 
parent relish; for myself, I must confess to a pref- 
erence for a lemonade with a “ stick ” in it. 

For the benefit of any who may contemplate a 
visit to the Hot Springs we would quote a conver- 
sation held between a prominent New Yorker and 
a darkey, whose occupation was that of bath-man. 
Our city friend asked the gentleman of color, jest- 
ingly, what he had better do in regard to the baths; 
if it were safe to take them on one’s own responsibil- 
ity, etc, The reply was: “Fust consult de doc- 
tah, un obtain de cause; den de watah’s he cure ye.” 
Had this conversation taken place before the No- 
vember election, doubtless some sore-headed poli- 
tician would have accused the medical fraternity 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


229 


down here of “intimidation.’’ We recently paid a 
visit to the colored school, where we were both 
amused and interested. A bright young colored 
man, who told us he was educated at Chillicothe, 
Ohio, had charge of the school. There were about 
eighty scholars in attendance, of all sizes and col- 
ors, shaded down from ivory-black to the fair hue 
of the Anglo-Saxon race. The pleasure manifested 
by these sable urchins, when their master handed 
us their slates, to inspect their writing, spelling, 
etc., was truly enjoyable, and a word of praise 
brought a merry twinkle in the eyes of the happy 
recipient. The school appeared to be conducted 
in a quiet, orderly manner, and some of the pupils 
were bright and intelligent. A visit to the colored 
Methodist church is likewise worthy of mention. 
This rude structure could hardly be considered a 
respectable place in which to stable cattle; yet the 
occupants seemed very proud of their church 
building, since they were enabled to make their 
last improvements. Rough board benches, and a 
slightly elevated platform, upon which was placed 
a writing desk and chair, comprised the furniture. 
The younger women were dressed in the most gro- 
tesque manner imaginable— old faded ribbons and 
flowers being the chief part of their apparel; and 
their principal occupation during the service was 
chewing gum and casting significant glances across 
the room at their sable lovers, many of whom 
were in imminent danger of losing their ears from 
an overgrowth of paper collars. The singing was a 
feeble attempt at the old-fashioned Methodist re- 
vival times, but they were perverted into an inde- 


230 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


soribable jargon, that at times was not unlike the 
howling of a dog. The sermon was delivered 
about as coherently as one of George Francis 
Train’s lectures, and some parts of it quite 
as laughable. The preacher admonished his 
flock against the grave crimes of stealing poul- 
try, drinking whisky and running ofF with 
their neighbor’s wife, the latter evidently being 
paramount in their category of transgressions. 
He also told them, among other things, that 
he had “medicated evidence” of there being 
a powder magazine under these mountains, and 
unless they turned from their wicked ways His 
Satanic Majesty would touch a match to it and 
blow them all to pieces; and, by way of making it 
more impressive, he added : “ If you don’t believe 
what I say, jes’ read de ‘ Pilgrim’s Progress.’ ” As 
he waxed warm in his discourse several women 
began to shriek, and one of them, after jumping up 
and down until she was exhausted, threw herself 
upon the floor, while two of her dusky comrades 
sat down upon her prostrate form to keep her 
quiet — a feat, even then, they were unable to per- 
form. 

One of the most unpleasant things here, with 
which we come in contact is the unparalleled suf- 
fering among the paupers. Many of this miserable 
class have begged their way here, and during the 
past winter have lived in an almost hopeless state 
of destitution. These wretched individuals take 
refuge in the side of the mountains, in close prox- 
imity to the springs. Having neither food nor 
shelter, they at once commence the difficult task 


HOT SPRINGS LETTERS. 


231 


of erecting rude cabins, the material used being 
old pieces of boards, sticks and coffee sacks, while 
their only means of sustenance is begging the 
refuse from the different hotels. There are about 
fifty of these huts scattered along up the mountain 
side, not one of which is a fit habitation for any 
member of the human family. 

The questiGu of building a hospital for the bene- 
fit of these helpless sufferers, is under considera- 
tion. A few benevolent individuals have already 
made liberal donations for the furtherance of this 
humane project. A large majority, however, take 
a view of this important matter from the same 
standpoint as did the St. Paul Pioneer Press in 
regard to the efforts of Winona in behalf of the 
grasshopper sufferers; and for fear of “overdo- 
ing ” the work of charity, they drop a silent tear, 
and consign these poor mendicants to the tender 
mercies of Him who multiplied the “ loaves and 
““ fishes.” 


WHAT IS LIFE ? 


“ What is life ?” I cried in haste, 

Life is but a barren waste ; 

A dark gulf of black despair, 

With no ray of sunlight there. 

All along the dreary road 

Hearts are struggling with their load, 

Weary souls, in anguish moan, 
Longing for the great Unknown. 

Sharp thorns pierce the tender flesh, 
Old-time wounds must bleed afresh. 

Blasted hopes and broken vows 
Do no sympathy arouse. 

Dark clouds hide the shining sun. 
Friends desert us, one by one. 

Look we for our love in vain ; 

Ghastly sight ! Our idol slain 

Aims and aspirations dead ; 

Promised joys forever fled. 

Tears and heart-aches by the score — 
This is life — and nothing more. 

And a still small voice within 
Murmured, “ Penalty for sin 

Gently whispered in my ear, 

“ Life is what we make it, dear.” 




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The Newspaper an Educator. 

It is a lamentable fact, but nevertheless true, that 
women, as a class, pay very little attention to the 
reading of newspapers. Many will be shocked at 
this assertion, and in self-defense will declare their 
inability to agree with the writer of this article. 
They will insist that a perusal of the papers is their 
daily practice. Granting this to be true, we would 
ask how many read them for the purpose of post- 
ing themselves upon the various important topics 
of the day? An elopement, murder, or some other 
thrilling or sensational article is greedily devoured, 
and doubtless the fashion notes are carefully 
scanned, while the important political items, edi- 
torials, and the vast amount of general information 
which is so easily acquired by giving a small por- 
tion of each day to the regular reading of a good 
newspaper, is too frequently ignored from the lack 
of interest felt in the affairs of our country. 

Few ladies, comparatively speaking, are able to 
converse intelligently upon subjects which ought 
to be familiar to all. They regard politics as some- 
thing purely masculine, and a lady who dips too 
deep into that fountain of knowledge is scoffed at, 
dubbed as strong-minded, and consequently to be 


235 


236 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


shunned and dreaded, by male and female, both 
great and small. We can see no good reason why 
women should not understand the political situa- 
tion of the country as well as her more fortunate 
brothers. All are equally interested in the public 
welfare, or ought to be at least ; and although denied 
the right of suffrage, they can, by their influence, do 
much to bring about good results. Married ladies 
are too apt to fall into a monotonous routine of 
home cares, to the exclusion of all else. They 
acknowledge their duty in attending to the ma- 
terial necessities of their families, but must this 
be done to the utter exclusion of all develop- 
ment of their own mental organs? Now, the 
careful perusal of the newspapers furnishes food 
for thought, and a woman who is not deficient 
in this line of reading is better calculated to 
enhance the pleasure of her husband, as well 
as prove herself essential to the happiness of 
her friends. Her keen sensibilities make her 
alive to the interest of everything good and noble 
with which she comes in contact; hence, her sphere 
of usefulness is greatly enlarged. A thorough 
knowledge of all passing events, both in the busi- 
ness and political world, is a means for the devel- 
opment of the conversational powers, which we con- 
sider one of the chief attractions of a lady. If she 
be able to engage in a discussion upon any topic; 
can show by her conversation that she is well posted, 
we contend that she rises much higher in the esti- 
mation of her opponent if he chances to be of the 
opposite sex. Surely knowledge is power, and will 
never fail to elevate any individual, either male or 


SHOET PIECES OF PROSE. 


237 


female, and a woman’s education need not necessa- 
rily cease at her marriage. How often we hear it 
remarked, that Brown, Smith or Jones, is to be 
pitied because he has such an illiterate wife, while 
he, intellectually, is vastly her superior. Now the 
chances are, that, years ago, when he led her a 
blushing bride to the altar, she was in all respects 
his equal. Why this seeming difference in their 
mental calibers? Simply because all along the 
journey of life he has progressed while she, if not 
positively retrograding, has stood still. The hoy 
admired her bright eyes and rosy cheeks. The man 
must see something to fill the vacuum caused by 
the absence of those personal charms else, he is 
sadly disappointed. Home is an earthly paradise 
to the intellectual man, if in it he finds a mind 
corresponding to his own. We do not say. it is 
always the case, but in very many otherwise well- 
regulated homes the husband seeks more congenial 
society, because he is deprived of it at his own fire- 
side, and we cannot but believe that the domestic 
circle would present more attractions if the women 
would give more time to the culture and develop- 
ment of the mind and less to personal adornment. 

The majority of women plead a want of time, and 
excuse themselves for this lack and disregard of 
mental culture, on the plea of having so much to 
do. Now we know from personal experience that 
a woman will find time to perform whatever she is 
determined to accomplish, and if her heart is in 
the work of self-improvement, she will take at least 
a small portion of her time in fitting herself for 
other positions in life tha n that of cook and cham 


238 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


bermaid. These are grand accomplishments in 
their lines, but a man can hire a girl for three dol- 
lars a week to fill either position, and we are quite 
positive that he admires a higher standard of 
acquired abilities in the woman who is to adorn 
his home, and be to him the companion of a life- 
time. We believe reading to be a sacred duty, 
and there is little else of more importance to either 
man or woman, than a careful perusal of the solid 
matter contained in the columns of a first-class 
newspaper. 

Another Side of Woman’s Rights. 

The question of “ woman’s rights ” has for a long 
time been agitated in all its various aspects. Not 
only the right of suffrage, but also have women 
claimed the right to fill positions which have here- 
tofore been monopolized almost exclusively by 
the opposite sex. We hear those, especially who 
are dependent upon their own resources for a live- 
lihood, denounce the gross injustice which compels 
them to perform the same amount of labor, and 
although equally competent as teachers, sales- 
women, book-keepers, etc., to cope with their antag- 
onist — man— are obliged to accept the situation at 
about one-half the salary given the latter, simply 
from the fact that she is so unfortunate as to be an 
off- shoot of that precious rib, taken from the first 
“ noble work of creation.” Without thorough in- 
vestigation this seems like a gigantic wrong perpe- 
trated upon the weaker vessels, because of that 
weakness; but on giving the matter careful con- 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


239 


sideration, we are inclined to think that this appar- 
ent evil is largely attributable to the fact that our 
young women as a class, do not take up any of the 
numerous professions which are open to them at the 
present day, intending to make it a life-work, as do 
our young men. A young woman who fits herself 
for any position, whether it be professional or 
otherwise, as a rule, is only seeking to derive tem- 
porary aid until such time as she shall meet her 
“ affinity,’* who doubtless will at once transplant 
her to a more congenial soil. I^ow, when a woman 
takes upon herself the grave responsibility of the 
marriage relation, her usefulness ceases, save*in the 
grand capacity of wife and mother. With that end 
in view, we contend that she does not meet the de- 
mands of her employer as satisfactorily as if she 
knew that she must be ever self-dependent. In 
every pursuit of life no one is expected to be an 
adept in the beginning. They can attain perfec- 
tion only by thorough application; consequently 
they can command remuneration for their services 
only in proportion to their ability; and not unfre- 
quently their employers are greatly annoyed by 
their inefficiency, which is tolerated only in the 
hope that in the future they may develop that 
degree of excellency which will compensate him 
for his patience and forbearance. Now, when he 
contemplates the fact that nine out of every ten 
employes are to leave him as soon as they have be- 
come efficient to serve him advantageously, he will 
no doubt regard them as transient customers, whom 
he cannot depend upon, and likewise pay them ac- 
cordingly. How about our young male friends? 


240 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


They are quite as apt to contract the matrimonial 
fever as our fair sisters; yet for them to seriously 
contemplate being heads of families is necessarily 
the strongest incentive to renewed efforts as busi- 
ness men. Their barks once fairly launched upon 
the rough sea of matrimony, they cannot afford to 
grow indifferent to the interest of their employer; 
but as a rule are more earnest in their endeavors 
to acquit themselves creditably in any vocation 
they may have undertaken. We do not say that 
the above is a reasonable excuse for the paltry 
wages paid women in comparison to that received 
by male help, but we do believe it is one great reason 
for the inequality existing between the salaries 
paid to both classes. Neither would we be under- 
stood to place all women under the head of hus- 
band seekers; but where one is found with the full 
intention of devoting her life to any profession that 
can and will be successfully carried out alter she 
becomes a wijp and mother, there are hundreds 
that are only waiting for some man to make them 
the generous proposition to work for their board 
and clothes during their natural life, with the 
additional honor of bearing his name, and calling 
him their lord and master. 


Who is to Blame? 

My attention was called to an article in The 
Home entitled “ The Men Responsible,” and I can- 
not forbear expressing my views briefly upon this 


SHOET PIECES OF PROSE. 


241 


subject. Minnie has dared to enter the lion’s den, 
as did Daniel of old, and attach the folly of extrav- 
agance in women to its proper origin. That many 
husbands and fathers are plunged into bankruptcy 
by the needless expenditures of their wives and 
daughters, no one denies, but that this extrava- 
gance is attributable solely to brainless women, who 
cultivate the love of dress simply to gratify their 
own personal vanity, I am unwilling to admit. I 
have known many modest and sensible young 
women who were, perhaps, dependent upon their 
own resources for a livelihood, that dressed neatly 
and in good taste, and who were occasionally invited 
into fashionable society, being appreciated by some 
noble lady for their real worth; and what was the 
result? These same young women, who were in 
every respect calculated to grace the homes of any 
upon whom they would condescend to bestow their 
affections, were openly snubbed by a set of brain- 
less coxcombs, who were probably in debt for the 
wax so lavishly bestowed upon the down under 
their noses; and while these really superior girls 
were left to the tender mercies of some venerable 
bachelors, these young immaculates were fluttering 
about the daughter of some persecuted millionaire 
like millers around a candle blaze. Now, so long 
as this state of things exists, just so long will 
women be spurred on to ape the customs and man- 
ners of those upon whom are bestowed the exclusive 
attentions of the sterner sex. It is the innate nature 
of woman to love admiration, and when the lords of 
creation prove themselves to be admirers of genu- 
ine womanhood — preferring the gold to the dross, 


242 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


instead of bowing in supreme adoration to dia- 
monds and laces, then, and not until then, will so- 
ciety be revolutionized. No sensible man or 
woman can blame any young lady for endeavoring, 
if possible, to gain at least common respect from 
their gentlemen friends, and this is scarcely shown 
them unless they are gotten up regardless of ex- 
pense. They stand back and see their Jair sister 
the center of attraction, simply because she dresses 
in style and elegance; and any young girl would 
be more than a patron saint if she did not neglect 
the nobler qualities of the mind and fall into the 
train of those who monopolize the entire attention 
of her male friends. A young lady of the nine- 
teenth century, who is the happy possessor of 
sufficient brains to enable her to dress according to 
her income, provided that should be ever so limi- 
ted, would find but little encouragement from even 
that class of individuals who are forever croaking 
about the extravagances of women. 

We admit that our sex should have a higher 
ambition than that of gaining favor in the mascu- 
line eye, but human nature is the same the world 
over, and if the men have not the moral courage 
to bestow their attention upon their lady friends, 
who, as they say, cannot sport a silver-plated har- 
ness, they can hardly expect the weaker vessels to 
possess strength of character sufficient to enable 
them to see themselves ostracised from society, not 
only by worthless snobs, but by those who claim 
to be shining lights in our “best circles.” And 
while so much is being said upon this important 
subject of the extravagance of American women. 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


243 


we would ask our brother accusers to weigh the 
matter well and decide for themselves as to who 
should bear the blame if the fair sex do spend a 
vast amount of time and money upon personal 
adornment. 


In Self-Defense. 

It would hardly seem possible, after having been 
so completely “squelched” by my formidable antag- 
onist, the illustrious “Xantippe,” that I should 
ever again venture an opinion, or at least give it 
publicity through the columns of the House- 
hold. But, as I have partially recovered from 
the shock produced by the onslaught made upon 
me, because of my brief little article, in which I en- 
deavored to set forth some of the numerous reasons 
why women as a class, can hardly expect the same 
remuneration for their services which is bestowed 
upon their more fortunate brothers, at the same 
time admitting, if my memory serves me right, that 
the reasons I assigned were hardly sufficient in 
themselves to warrant this apparent injustice, I 
have dared to once more enter the lion’s den, doubt- 
less at the peril of being crushed by the diversity 
of opinion and knock-down arguments of this exas- 
perated correspondent. It certainly required a 
vast amount of self-denial and Christian fortitude 
for a being so incensed as was this aforementioned 
“ Xantippe,” to forego the pleasure for “ two mor- 
tal weeks,” of wiping out of existence all traces of 
the ignoramus who is guilty of the atrocious crime 
of expressing an opinion. It seems that the enor- 


244 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


mity of any offense can only be classed in the same 
category with that of the offending Beth,” who 
was so unwise as to declare her preference for a 
home in some other State than our beloved Minne- 
sota. I would say just here that should I receive 
no more serious damage in this attack, and acquit 
myself as creditably as did this erring sister, I shall 
feel that I am a near kin of the “ king bee” in this 
“ hornet’s nest,” into which I have so lucklessly 
stepped Now I believe the columns of the House- 
hold were set apart by our kind and indulgent edi- 
tor for the purpose of allowing the numerous 
readers of his valuable papers, to express their own 
ideas in their own way, and should any one of the 
many contributors, be so unfortunate as to volun- 
teer an opinion, which is not in accordance with 
the views of some other, would it not be quite as 
conducive to the pleasure which the reader hopes 
to derive from a perusal of these columns if they 
will simply give their own ideas upon the subject 
in a clear and concise manner, rather than resort 
to the absurd practice of assailing the articles of 
those who certainly claim the right to a hearing, 
providing the good editor is so indulgent as to 
grant them the privilege? I believe if each and 
all who write for the Household would adopt this 
simple rule, that the interest which we all feel 
therein would be greatly enhanced, and this par- 
ticular department might be, in a greater degree, 
of mutual benefit to its readers. I despise contro- 
versy, either in public or private life, and being a 
stranger in the Household, hope to avoid personal 
combat with its members, but will add that I 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


245 


think it very poor taste, to say the least, for any of 
us to censure the editor because of the non- 
appearance of our articles, or should they be sub- 
jected to the trying ordeal of passing through the 
dissecting room previous to publication. I have 
yet to learn that he is obliged to publish all, or 
any part of what we send him, if he chooses to 
decline. And I think we show a want of grati- 
tude if we do not consider it a personal favor 
bestowed upon each one when an article of our 
production appears, rather than to feel that we are 
conferring a compliment upon the paper by send- 
ing articles, many of which, were he not generous 
enough to give us the Household, would never see 
printer’s ink, unless we paid advertising rates for 
every line. 


Music Teachers. 

We have in this nineteenth century an overplus 
of so-called music teachers. It seems to be a very 
general opinion that any person who has acquired 
the ability to perform upon the pianoforte is un- 
questionably competent to fill the position of in- 
structor in this important branch of education. 
Parents too often place their young children under 
the tuition of persons who are recommended as 
fine players, without ascertaining whether they 
possess any of the requisites which characterize 
good teachers. We frequently hear it remarked 
that so-and-so is probably incapable of giving 
instruction to advanced pupils, but will do well 


246 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


enough for beginners. Now, it is just here that 
the evil presents itself. It is an incalculable wrong 
to give these little ones over to the mischievous 
influence of any person who is not thoroughly 
trained in the science of teaching. It does not 
necessarily follow because one plays well, that he 
is capable of imparting that knowledge to another, 
and I can see no good reason why music teachers 
should not be compelled to undergo the same rigid 
examination before attempting their work, as do 
our teachers of common schools; for a wrong 
method taught in music is infinitely more difficult 
to overcome than that in any other branch of 
education. Improper training at the outset may 
impede the progress of the pupil for years. 
I write understandingly in this matter, having 
many years since been disciplined by a genu- 
ine graduate from Boston. There was once, to 
me, a certain ring about this last sentence that 
filled my unsuspecting heart with confidence, 
and I yielded a willing victim to the wiles of this 
famous Bostonian. Never having received the 
slightest knowledge of the science of music, I was 
wholly unprepared for the fiery ordeal through 
which I was called to pass, and I give my experi- 
ence, briefly, for the benefit of those who may, at 
some future time, be tempted to nibble at the 
same bait. My worthy teacher informed me that 
I would be required to take three lessons per 
week, intimating that to pursue this course would 
soon enable me to gain a proficiency which would 
far exceed my most exaggerated anticipations. 
Accordingly, I set to work with a will, and for six 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


247 


successive weeks I faithfully labored five hours 
«ach day (Sundays excepted), and at the expira- 
tion of my first term I think I had taken ten pieces 
of sheet music, and, with the exception of one 
simple waltz and a sacred song, I believe that 
Oottschalk’s “ Last Rose of Summer ” was the 
piece least difficult to perform among my vast col- 
lection of instrumental music; for, be it known, 
my stock was by no means confined to these ten 
sheets aforementioned. There was from one to 
three pieces of classical music invariably left for 
my perusal at each successive visit from my 
teacher. These, together with a new instruction- 
book, Czerny’s several works on velocity and 
mechanism, and a few other valuable acquisitions, 
seemed necessary aids to my extensive knowledge 
of music. I have never been able to ascertain 
what percentage he received for furnishing me 
with the same. At the close of my first term I had 
gone nearly through Bertini’s instruction-book; 
and, in fact, there seemed to be but very little in 
the line of music with which I was not supposed 
to be familiar. I was highly complimented upon 
the manner in which I played the scales. In tak- 
ing a retrospective view of the case now, I think 
there was a striking resemblance between the 
smoothness of my performance of that feat and a 
lumber wagon passing rapidly over a corduroy 
bridge, the difference being decidedly in favor of 
the wagon. 

Technics and all manner of finger exercises were 
entirely ignored as a waste of time after the first 
three lessons. I would say right here that this 


248 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


professor of music collected the tuition money due 
him at the end of the term, which, with the few 
little extras furnished, amounted to considerable, 
and left town. I afterwards learned that his only 
object in getting up a class at this time was to ob- 
tain money enough to carry him back to Boston. 
But I was disinterested in his whereabouts! My 
ambition about that time was to show off my 
musical attainments; and as my fame was shed 
abroad, I was frequently importuned at small 
gatherings to favor my friends with the rendition 
of some familiar piece; but on being escorted to 
the piano I usually declined playing classical 
music, and never had my notes with me. On one 
occasion, however, I remember being prevailed 
upon, through great persuasion, to play some one 
of my favorites, which consisted of “ Mary to 
the Savior’s Tomb,” “ Greenville ” and a waltz 
“ Greenville ” I always held in reserve, so as to be 
able to respond to an encore, provided I was so 
fortunate as to be thus honored. After announc- 
ing the pieces which I was able to perform without 
my music, I seated myself at the instrument. An 
attempt to play was invariably accompanied with 
grimaces and contortions of the facial organs, 
which were painful to behold. I think I enlisted 
the sympathies of those who were unaccustomed 
to hearing me play, as one kind old lady suggested 
peppermint drops for cramp colic. However, I 
managed to get through with the waltz, although 
the perspiration flowed freely from every pore. 
The applause, when I had finished, was sufficient 
to gratify the vanity of any first-class performer. 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


249 


But I was somewhat embarrassed after the smoke 
had cleared away, when a venerable old man, who 
was evidently susceptible to the charms of music, 
regardless of the quality, approached me, and in a 
trembling voice inquired if I would be so kind as 
to inform him whether the piece I had just exe- 
cuted was ‘‘ Mary to the Savior’s Tomb ” or the 
waltz. \ 

The above is one instance of the result of a fine 
performer acting in the capacity of teacher, and 
although my success was marvelous, I have since 
learned that there is a more efficient method for 
the advancement of a musical education than the 
one I pursued, and I advise pupils to avail them- 
selves of a teacher who in the beginning adheres 
more strictly to the technicalities of music. 


More Light. 

Susan B. Anthony, in the new Assembly Boom 
at Albany, the other night, defined marriage as 
binding one’s self to one man during life for 
board and clothes.” We admit that married ladies, 
as a rule, get their daily bread, providing, in many 
instances, they possess the physical strength to 
split wood and make fires to bake it. But in 
speaking of “clothes,” Susan evidently knows 
nothing of the actual pleasure derived from making 
midnight tours under the bed, ostensibly in search 
of burglars, but really in the vain hope of finding a 
few stray nickels emerging from the pantaloons 
pocket of that noble specimen of manhood who a 


250 


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few short years ago declared, “ with all my worldly 
goods I thee endow.” Verily, Susan needs more 
light upon the subject. 


Home Talk. 

The columns of The Home are perused with 
pleasure, as well as profit, by a multitude of indi- 
viduals who, like myself, are in pursuit of infor- 
mation which is found to emanate from the pens 
of your gifted contributors. The advice and kind 
reproof set forth in such a pleasing manner is 
invaluable, and really oftentimes meets the 
demands of those who are sadly perplexed to ascer- 
tain the right course before going ahead. The 
suggestions offered by Beulah in regard to the 
earnest endeavors of pure-minded women for the 
reformation of that class of men who can only be 
reached through the smooth channels of women’s 
influence, are indeed a picture that deserves a 
golden frame. Women are constantly being cen- 
sured for their lack of zeal in this particular branch 
of Christian duty; and we would also refer to the 
heartless ingratitude with which we are met on 
every side if we extend a helping hand to a “ fallen 
sister.” Let a well-dressed, fashionable lady 
attempt to raise one of this unfortunate class of 
individuals to respectability, or reinstate her in 
good society, and, ninety-nine times out of one 
hundred, she will bring down reproach and 
calumny upon her devoted head; and that, too, 
from those who are loudest in their protestations 


SHOKT PIECES OF PROSE. 


251 


that it is a most solemn duty which she cannot 
shirk with impunity. It is quite possible that the 
good old “ mothers in Israel ” might perform this 
work without the scoffs and inuendoes of their 
friends; but to them alone would be ascribed the 
laudable desire of promoting the good of mankind. 
We believe that a young and pretty woman, no 
matter how deep her sincerity of purpose, who 
should attempt to reclaim a fast young man, would 
be very likely to bring reproach and ignominy 
upon herself. I do not speak from personal ex- 
perience, never having tried the experiment, but I 
have seen it tried very many times, and not unfre- 
quently with serious results to the unfortunate 
woman who dared to take a decided stand for the 
right. And I have a distinct recollection of the 
fiery trials through which a lady friend was called 
to pass, simply for the reason that she attempted 
to brave the storm, and bring a persistent outcast 
back to the enjoyment of intellectual and refined 
society. She was not only ostracised hei:self, but 
her ears were regaled with that little poem, the 
first line of which reads: “ Birds of a feather flock 
together.” And had there been a man in this case 
(fortunately there was not), doubtless her male 
friends would have accused her of angling after 
the heart of this precious piece of manhood. 

Winnie set forth a few well-chosen facts, and it 
appears they fell under the deluded optics of some 
“noble work of creation,” and, as unvarnished 
truths sometimes touch a tender cord, this mis- 
understood Winnie was hinted at as the wall- 
flower that bore sour grapes. Never mind, 


252 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


Winnie, there are a score of lady friends who will 
bear you out in your assertions, but who have too 
much delicacy, perhaps, to monopolize the columns 
of the The Home for the purpose of expressing 
their opinions. In a discussion with a gentleman 
friend, regarding this work of reforming the disso- 
lute young men of our land, he was bold enough 
to say that the ladies who attempted to revolu- 
tionize society should be, like Caesar’s wife, above 
suspicion; intimating that such a class would 
probably succeed in this worthy cause without the 
annoyance of the aforementioned ridicule. I 
would say, in vindication of those who are already 
engaged in this thankless work, that it is rather 
unusual for suspicious characters to trouble them- 
selves particularly about the morality of their 
fellow-creatures. Moreover, it would require con- 
siderable time and labor for these women to pro- 
cure references sufficient to satisfy the minds of an 
American public, who may doubt the purity of 
their motives; besides, most of them have more 
important business on hand. I cannot help won- 
dering if Caesar’s wife had been guilty of the 
atrocious crime of frizzing her hair and wearing a 
pin-back, if she would have escaped the smirks and 
peering glances which are so lavishly bestowed 
upon her fair sisters of the present age, provided 
they chance to be in a city to which they are 
strangers, and are so unfortunate as to be unpro- 
tected by a — yes, a mau. Now, this little 
article is not written for the purpose of calling 
forth a retort from any member of The Home 
circle, for, in the language of our good Hector, in 


SHORT PIECES OF PROSE. 


253 


one of his recent sermons, If there is anything 
we despise it is controversy; but I would ask 
some older and wiser head than mine to point out 
clearly our duty, for I honestly confess to being 
nonplussed oftentimes while reading articles and 
receiving brief lectures from officious friends in 
regard to this work of reformation. 


POEMS 




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BABY. 

Childhood’s bright and merry prattle- 
Falls upon the mother’s ear : 
Soothing strain of sweetest music, 
Backward turns the starting tear. 

Yesterday, one tender rose-bud. 

Nipped by Death’s relentless hand 
Lying now so cold and silent— 

Baby dwells in Spirit-land. 

\ 

Angels whisper words of comfort. 
Cheering up the bleeding heart ; 

But, alas ! the chord is severed. 

And with Baby we must part. 

Tiny footsteps on the stair-case 
Waken up the mother-love ; 

Clasping in her arms the treasures. 
Given to her from above. 

She, in words of fond endearment. 
Renders thanks for the bequest ; 
Tearfully she asks the question, 

- “ Which of these could we spare best ?” 

Two on Earth, and one in Heaven ; 

Vacant now the baby-chair— 

Nothing left but fond remembrance. 
And a curl of golden hair. 


257 


THE OUTCAST. 


See the bitter tears of anguish, 

Flowing from their fountain head ; 

Broken-hearted and forsaken, 

Begging for her daily bread. 

With shame faced’ness she crouches 
Underneath yon towering spire , 

Homeless, friendless, and deserted— 
Whom she is none doth inquire. 

Maidens, decked in costly raiment. 
Sweep by her in proud disdain ; 

Woman, had’st thou been thus tempted. 
Would thy soul be free from stain ? 

Hast thou in thy heart no pity 
For the fallen sisterhood ? 

In the lowest, vilest sinner. 

Thou wilt find some germ of good. 

Once the robe of truth and virtue 
Worn by her, was bright as thine ; 

Love was rife within her bosom — 

Knelt she at the sacred shrine. 

Btu alas ! those untaught footsteps, 
Caught within the tempter’s snare. 

Find no more a home of refuse ; 

Hope is lost in black despair. 

By her side the nameless offspring. 
Silent witness of her grief, 

Cries in vain for food and Shelter- 
Helping hands bring no relief. 

Wrapping close the threadbare garment 
For the storm is raging wild ; 

Tearful eyes are raised to heaven, 
Pleading for her starving child. 

Look ye at her vile seducer. 

Boasting of the victories won, 

Lost to manhood’s sense of honor. 
Shame or pity he hath none. 

Ah ! the oft repeated story : 

Woman’s heart so fresh and pure. 

Trusting in her lover’s promise. 

For his sake all things endure. 

Though no wreath of orange blossoms. 
E’er has crowned that mother’s head ; 

No bright jewel on her finger. 

Tells her heart that she was wed; 

Yet upon high Heaven’s record. 

Sacred vows eternal stand ; 

God metes out to man his portion. 

With His own Almighty hands ! 


258 


LAMENTATIONS. 


The happy dream is o’er!— one loving heart is broken! 

Those blissful days are gone, the last farewell is spoken! 

And will he come no more? Must this parting be forever? 
Oh, what is life without him! Forget my darling? Never 

New joys may come to him, and fill his life with pleasure. 
While deep within my heart, fond memories I’ll treasure; 
And, when other friends prove false, perchance he’ll shun 
temptation. 

If he knows my love for him is built on firm foundation. 

Once I believed his love for me had found completeness; 

I gathered from his lips the words so fraught with sweet- 
ness; 

He’ll ne’er forget the time, when with tender words, un- 
blushing, 

I told him that his coolness my loving heart was crushing. 

Those happy, happy days! when his love for me, unceasing. 
Was the hope on which I lived, my happiness increasing— 
Ah! why am I forgot, and life thus filled with sorrow? 
There’s rest beyond the grave— but earth has no bright 
morrow. 

Oh, the depth of woman’s love! Oh, the sorrow when for- 
saken! 

Who knoweth of the pangs when her faith in man is shaken? 
But my heart is his alone, time nor distance cannot sever 
The vows of constancy which God hath sealed forever. 


259 


LEAH. 


Sadly we gazed upon that lovely face, 

Pale, tender rosebud, too fragile for earth; 

Long before noonday she finished the race — 

We miss her bright smile at the fireside hearth. 

Peacefully folded those lily white hands. 

Resting so quietly— beautiful clay— 

Chosen to dwell with that heavenly band. 

Our Lord went before to brighten the way. 

Fair as the flowers that lay on her breast. 

Sweet as the fragrance that perfumed the air, 
Was that sylph-like form! Sleep on, take thy rest 
Angels watch over with tenderest care. 

Dear little lamb, strayed away from the fold; 

Paid a brief visit to loving ones here; 

Life was too desolate, dreary and cold, 

She found a true Friend! — the Savior was near. 

Why do we mourn for loved ones departed? 

Our treasures are safe in the hands of God! 

Let us submit, and, although broken-hearted, 

Find peace in His bosom while kissing the rod. 


260 


QUESTIONINGS. 

Why from our arms are loved ones torn? 

Life at the best is dark and drear— 

Why must our hearts be called to mourn 
The loss of friends to mem’ry dear? 

Why do we wish to linger near 
NThe grave that holds our buried love? 
Why from death do we shrink, and fear 
To join that happy throng above? 

Why must we in the dark remain? 

Hath God not said, “ Let there be light?” 
Why do we plead so oft in vain? 

Father, do we not ask aright? 

Why do we dwell on blessings fled? 

Those happy, happy days of yore! 

Why cherish the hopes that are dead? 
Departed joys will come no more. 


261 


THE MOURNER. 


Reverently she bowed her head. 
Silent were the prayers she said; 
But the ear that heareth all 



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Listens for the mourner’s call. 


Silently she prayed for grace. 

While she gazed upon that face, 

Cold and passionless in death — • ’ , , 

Life is but a fleeting breath. . ' •! 

Heavenly Father lend Thine ear, •. 

Fulfill Thy promises to hear v 

Thy children, when in faith they pray, • - 

Asking strength from day to day. ■ 





Cheerfully the Angels sing. 


When to Heaven a soul they bring— 
Mourner, dry thy tears to-day, 
Christ, with joy, hath paved the way. 

Tenderly He views thy grief, 

Go to Him and find relief; 

Never more on earth depend, 

Jesus is thy truest friend. 

Fervently His aid was sought. 
Bravely was the battle fought; 

Soon she raised her tearful eyes; 
Christ, the Son, had heard her cries. 

Peacefully she turned away— 
Farewell! tenement of clay. 

Meekly thou thy sorrows bore. 

Rest is thine forevermore! 

Patiently she bears the cross. 

Never murmuring at her loss; 

Life with her is just begun, . 

Not my will, but Thine be done. 


262 


SPRING VIOLETS. 

Wake, gentle Violet; lift up thy head; 

Why art thou sorrowful, eyes of blue, 

Nestled so cozily down in thy bed. 

Warmed by the sunshine, watered with dew? 

Red-breasted choristers sing thee to sleep; 

Angels watch over thy slumbers by night; 

Life is too beautiful ever to weep. 

Heaven too glorious. Nature too bright. 

Flora hath chosen thee queen of the day— 
Crowned thy fair head with fragrance so rare; 
Spring-time hath come! Let clouds pass away. 
Join the glad song of the wood-nymphs so fair 

Heaven hath favored thee, beautiful flower! 

Decked thee in modesty, sweetness and grace; 
Made thee a bed in the cool, shady bower — 
Sunbeams are brighter while kissing thy face. 


263 


GEMEVfl TO ROME 



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FROM CENEVA TO ROME. 


“^Oh! Combien J’aime a voir, dans un beau soir d’ete” 
Sur Tombre reproduit son croissent argente, 

Ce lac aux bords riants, aux cimes elancees 
Qui dans ce grand miroir se peignent renversees; 

Et I’etoile an front d’or, et son eclat tremblant, 

Et I’ombrage incertain da saule vacillant.” 

At the expiration of a three months’ sojourn in 
Geneva, where our time was mostly occupied in 
the earnest endeavor to solve the unfathomable 
mysteries of “la Langue Francaise,” we decided 
to take a vacation. 

The occasion seemed opportune for the realiza- 
tion of our long-contemplated trip to Southern 
France and Italy; hence, in order to escape the 
cold rains and dense fogs which one encounters in 
Switzerland at the beginning of December, we 
turned our steps in a southerly direction. 

Upon leaving this quiet, historical old city, situ- 
ated at the lower extremity of Lake Leman, better 
known as Lake Geneva, a landscape of such har- 
monious beauty attracts the eye, that it is with a 
feeling of regret one bids farewell to the 
gigantic shadows of Mount Blanc, which are clearly 
outlined against the distant horizon. 

With a long, lingering glance at the beautiful 
Rhone, the blue waters of which flow for miles 


267 


268 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME, 


side by side with those of the Arve, miDgliDg to- 
gether, but not blending their contrasting shades, 
as they form a broad ribbon at the confluence and 
roll unceasingly along until lost in the limpid 
waters of the Mediterranean. 

A three hours’ ride by rail brings us to Culoz, 
where we cross the French border and proceed on 
our way to Lyons, connecting at that place with 
“The Paris, Lyons & Med. E. E.” Following 
closely along the banks of the river, as it winds its 
way through the beautiful and fertile Ehone val- 
ley, our train bears us onward at a rapid rate, 
making but few stops until our twelve hours’ ride 
is completed, and we find ourselves nearing the 
beautiful city of Marseilles. 

This, we are informed, is the “first seaport of 
France and of the Mediterranean, that it can ac- 
commodate 1,200 vessels and is the third city in 
size in France, with a population of 350,000.” 

A week spent in this cosmopolitan city affords 
one the opportunity of becoming slightly ac- 
quainted with many peculiar phases of life. All 
nationalities are here represented, as the different 
costumes seen on the streets, as well as the con- 
fusion of tongues, bear witness, the latter verify- 
ngany exaggerated ideas one may have previ- 
ously indulged regarding the Tower of Babel. 

One of the finest sights, however, is the harbor, 
where ships of all dimensions may be seen flying 
the national colors of so many different countries 
that one becomes bewildered in the vain attempt 
to designate the government to which each be- 
longs. 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


269 


We recall a little incident, hardly worth record- 
ing, yet at the time it afforded ns great pleasure, 
when a fellow-countryman rushed into the hotel 
where we were staying, and in an excited manner 
announced that an American Frigate’’ had just 
arrived and was lying at the wharf. 

Actuated by love for the old stars and stripes, a 
small party of ladies set out at once to pay their 
respects to the distinguished guest. None, save 
those who have made the sacrifice, can imagine 
the feelings of emotion that thrill the heart of a 
true patriot, when, after a year’s absence from his 
native land, he catches a glimpse of the American 
flag. There are many pleasant drives, and much 
to interest the tourist in this magnificent city; 
but our allotted time being inadequate to do 
justice to all, we simply endeavor to photograph 
upon our memory a general impression of the 
city and its environments, and hasten on to 
Nice. 

After leaving Marseilles, the attention of the 
traveler is divided between the picturesque 
scenery on the one side, and the broad bosom of 
the Mediterranean on the other. The road winds 
in and out through glade and glen, giving to each 
mile of the way a varied interest, such as one must 
ever feel in making their first trip along the Riviera. 
Here and there an orange grove, a clump of 
fig-trees or a hedge of flowering cactus, add to 
the beauty of the scene; and one begins to realize 
some of the inducements that bring such vast 
multitudes to this section of country during the 
winter months. 


270 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


Arriving at Nice, we find one of the most beauti- 
ful cities in the south of France. It is situated on 
the “Bai des Anges” at the mouth of a small stream 
called the “Paglione.” Nice in winter is the great 
resort for invalids; yet many seek this sequestered 
spot, simply to enjoy the balmy atmosphere which 
a more northerly section does not afford. Here 
one meets with many English-speaking tourists of 
various nationalities, and from a careful perusal of 
the registers, in the leading hotels, one finds that 
English and Americans predominate. Although 
there are a goodly number of French, Russians and 
Germans here at the present time. Like famous 
seaside resorts in America, hotel rates are exor- 
bitant during the height of the season, which is a 
matter of necessity, no doubt, as we are told the 
town is almost entirely deserted in summer. To 
one who has spent most of her winters in the 
rigorous climate of Minnesota, the sight of an 
orange grove in J anuary, bearing fruit in every 
state, from the half-open bud, to the full-grown 
fruit in all its perfection, is a phenomenon to say 
the least. Near the hotel where we are staying is 
a “Jardin Public,” where a fine band discourses 
music each day from two to four p. m. Here the 
people assemble by hundreds, many of the ladies 
in “costumes magnifique” with the necessary ap- 
pendage of a string, with a maid at one end and a 
dog at the other. During these two festive hours 
a careful observer discovers many an affaire 
d'ainour in all its various stages from incipiency 
to consummation. A peculiar feature of the clim- 
ate here, and one we should judge was hardly 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


271 


conducive to health, is the sudden changes in tem- 
perature which we have experienced each day thus 
far. Until ten a. m. there is a cold, chilly feeling 
which necessitates a fire in our room; after which, 
there is a sudden rise in the temperature that in- 
creases until about three p. m., at which time it 
becomes uncomfortably warm. 

As early as four p. m. a breeze is felt, and, simul- 
taneously with this change a dampness is expe- 
rienced in the atmosphere, that produces a sensa- 
tion, as some one expresses it, “ not unlike a cold> 
wet blanket thrown over the shoulders.” From 
this time on, until the following morning, there is 
no feeling of comfort obtained ten feet away from 
a fire. 

A brief sojourn in a foreign city is hardly sup- 
posed to offer the opportunity for one to become a 
particular star in the social horizon ; yet it was our 
pleasure to be the happy recipient of an invitation 
to dine with one of the old and respected families 
of the place. 

Not knowing that we had been made the sub- 
ject of a correspondence between ‘‘ mine hostess” 
and the lady with whom we boarded in Geneva, 
we were greatly surprised, as well as pleased, to 
be sought out and kindly asked to “honor the 
company with our presence” upon this occasion. 
Now, to be the guest of honor at a banquet in a 
foreign city, where one is wholly ignorant of the 
rules which govern society, and especially where 
not one of the participants are able to speak a 
word of English, is something of an ordeal to one 
who has but an imperfect knowledge of the Ian- 


272 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


guage of the country. However, as a protracted 
stay in continental Europe had prepared us for 
most any emergency, we unhesitatingly assumed 
the onerous duty. Being asked to appear “en 
avance'^ of the other convives, we presented our- 
self at an early hour as requested, and were 
delightfully entertained by the hostess, who re- 
ceived us in a most cordial manner, assuring us, 
“ qu elle etait tres heureuse de faire noire coii- 
nuisdnce.^^ After having asked questions innum- 
erable, regarding our American life in general, she 
remembered having had a dear friend locate in a 
city in close proximity to New York. Several 
inefPectual attempts to recall the name of this par- 
ticular city, proved her memory defective, and she 
finally begged us to name several of the leading 
cities near New York. We complied with her 
request, mentioning every place of importance that 
we knew, in the New England states, and as far 
west as Chicago; but they bore no resemblance in 
sound to the city in question. But she finally, 
after a careful research among an antiquated pile 
of archives, informed us gleefully, that she had 
succeeded in finding it; that it was Shanghai. 
And this recalls another similar experience that 
we had in Germany. A lady inquired if we were 
familiar with the towns along the upper Missis- 
sippi. Having lived for many years upon the green 
banks of that grand old stream, we answered in 
the affirmative; when she eagerly told us that she 
had a cousin living in a city on the upper Missis- 
sippi. We naturally asked the name of the place 
when she, too, showed symptoms of failing mem- 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


273 


ory, but a few moments of quiet meditation opened 
up the avenues of recollection, and she cheerfully 
announced Montreal as the place referred to. 
But time is precious and we must say Au revoir^^ 
to beautiful Nice, and proceed on to Genoa, which 
is the next stopping place on our programme. 

Historians could find suflicient matter to fill vol- 
umes in contemplating this famous seaport, which 
has been the scene of devastation, wars and blood- 
shed, as has been the case with nearly all Euro- 
pean cities. The town is surrounded by fortifica- 
tions dating back to the seventeenth century; and 
upon the distant elevation may still be seen many 
of the old forts. 

Genoa is a commercial center of much impor- 
tance, and numbers about 140,000 inhabitants. 
The beautiful situation of this Italian city, 
together with its many objects of interest, make it 
decidedly attractive to the tourist, who is paying 
his first visit to the vicinity which produced the 
“Discoverer of America.” The house in which 
Columbus is said to have been born is in “ Cogole- 
to,” a few miles out of Genoa. It is now a wayside 
inn and bears the latter inscription, “JETospcs, siste 
gradurn. Fuit hie luxprima Columbo; orbe viro 
ma.jori heu arcta do mus. Unus erat mundus. 
Dno sunt ait iste. Fuere” 

In the “ piazza acquaverde” stands a handsome 
marble statue of Columbus, erected in 1862. 
Kneeling at the feet of this statue, is a figure rep- 
resenting America. Around the base are numer- 
ous “allegorical figures,” representing some dis- 
tinctive feature in the past, present or future, the 


274 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


significance of which is unknown to the writer; 
but if the American tourist doubts that he carries 
the impress of his nationality indelibly stamped 
upon his person, his mind will be disabused of the 
illusion when he finds himself surrounded by half a 
dozen guides, all eager to escort him to the won- 
derful monument of “Christo Colombo, the dis- 
coverer of Americo.” Here we encountered a 
horde of mendicants in all states of degradation. 
Men, women, and children, flock together in herds 
upon the streets, or crouched in abject misery 
under the friendly shelter of some ancient wall. 
Incredible as it may seem, it is nevertheless true 
that as we were driving through one of the princi- 
pal streets of Genoa, a bevy of these wretched, half 
famished creatures, ran, or crawled along after our 
carriage, and clinging to the wheels implored aid in 
some sort of Jargon, which was incomprehensible, 
only as they crossed themselves, and raised their 
eyes in the attitude of prayer, as if invoking Divine 
assistance in their efforts to attract our attention. 
Having been previously warned of this state of 
affairs, and the consequence, we had provided our- 
selves with a quantity of small coins, of infinites- 
imal value, and, in order to abate the nuisance, 
we hurled a handful of these little pieces into the 
street, whereupon the poor wretches dropped from 
the wheels like so many satiated leeches, and we 
motioned the driver to move on rapidly, while we 
left them scrambling in the dust for these coveted 
treasures. 

But gladly as we would tarry by the way, we 
must hasten on to Pisa, which is our next objective 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


275 


point. Many places of interest along the “Rivi- 
era” must necessarily be left for a future visit, as 
our time is limiter!, and we must content ourselves 
with a passing glance only at the objects of such 
wondrous beauty that greet us upon every side. 
The distance from Genoa to Pisa being about one 
hundred miles, it is easily reached in five hours by 
rail, although many prefer the trip by water to 
Leghorn, as daily boats ply between these points, 
and the journey by water is said to be very enjoy- 
able. 

Pisa is a small, quiet town, situated on the river 
Arno, and inland from the sea some five or six 
miles. It is rich in historical fame as it “ became 
a Roman colony as early as the year 180 B. C.” 
One of its chief attractions is its world-renowned 
“ Leaning Tower.” To our uncultivated American 
taste, there is nothing very gratifying to the eye in 
“ Leaning Towers” in general, and taking this as a 
specimen, they can hardly be classed among the 
things of beauty; although this particular one will 
doubtless be a joy forever to the inhabitants of 
Pisa. It is said to be thirteen feet out of the per- 
pendicular, and its height to be 179 feet. Whether 
this peculiarity is intentional or accidental is not 
known; but to one who is an adherent to the eter- 
nal fitness of things, the latter would seem a more 
reasonable solution of the cause of this monstros- 
ity. Some say that the “foundation settled while 
it was in course of construction, hence an attempt 
was made to give ^ vertical position to the upper 
portion.” One ascends to the top by a winding 
staircase of 294 steps, actual count; and the writer 


276 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


found upon application for admission to make the 
ascent, that no fewer than three persons were 
allowed to ascend together. The custodian, how- 
ever, will supply the deficiency by paying him a 
small fee. From the summit one obtains a fine 
view of the distant mountains in one direction, 
while far away to the west the blue waters of the 
Mediterranean are plainly visible. The “ Campo- 
Santa” which is a burial ground, draws many vis- 
itors daily, as it is here that the archbishops, 
after the loss of the Holy Land, brought some 
fifty- three shiploads of earth from Mount Calvary 
in order that the dead might repose in Holy 
ground. The marble walls of these ancient 
churches contain rare designs in mosaics; while 
sculptured images, in wood and stone, adorn the 
altars; and the impersonations by the old masters 
of saints and sinners, who ages since passed 
through the dark portals, to the realms of the 
Unknown, all combined, form an art gallery that 
fills the beholder with wonder and admiration. 

But Pisa, with its numerous attractions, must 
not detain us beyond the comparatively small 
space allotted to it, and while our reluctant feet 
turn to other scenes and objects, we can, at least 
treasure up for the future the bright visions of the 
past, and erect a monument in our hearts, which 
will be sacred to its memory. A few miles farther 
on our journey, and here we are at Florence, “The 
Athens of Italy/^ sixty miles east of Pisa. In com- 
ing from Pisa to Florence, we traverse a rich and 
fertile country lying at the base of “The Appen. 
nines.” To give a minute description of this de- 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


277 


lightful trip, would require more time than the 
writer can bestow upon even this beautiful section 
of country. This lovely city is situated on both 
banks of the ‘‘Arno,” a small unimportant stream 
as it appears to us now; however, during the rainy 
season it is said to increase its dimensions in a 
greater or less degree. Winding around through 
a picturesque valley, it seems to be swallowed up 
in a cluster of the Appennines. Would that our 
feeble pen could portray the enchanting scenes 
with which this art city is replete; but we* must 
needs confine ourself to a brief mention of some 
of the chief attractions, as they are unfolded for 
our inspection. All along the annals of ancient 
history, these old Italian cities have furnished ma- 
terial with which to feed and clothe the intellect- 
ual life; and as Florence takes rank with the three 
sister cities, Rome, Naples and Venice, so much 
has already been said and written in her praise, 
that anything that we might add would be super- 
fluous. History tells us that the “city was devas- 
tated by hordes of barbarians during the dark 
ages, and revived again about the eleventh cen- 
tury.” 

The city walls have nearly all been removed, but 
some of the ancient gates still stand as reminders 
of the past. As an art center, no doubt, Florence 
stands to-day unrivalled by any other in conti- 
nental Europe; while in intellectual culture she is 
conceded to “surpass the rest of Italy.” To have 
visited the “Pitti” and “Uflizzi” galleries alone, is 
sufficient in itself to create an insatiable love and 
enthusiasm for the fine arts, in whatever form they 


278 


FEOM GENEVA TO EOME. 


may be presented. Nothing short of an experi- 
mental knowledge however, of the wonderful crea- 
tions contained in these two galleries, can furnish 
the reader with an adequate idea of their immen- 
sity and grandeur. But to appreciate the jewels 
which stand unparalleled in the glorious realm of 
realistic imagery, would require a life-long study 
of the simple rndiments, belonging to the art 
world! Here all schools are represented. Italian, 
French, German, Venetian, Dutch, Flemish — in 
fact, every conceivable style, grade and finish, ap- 
pertaining to the fine arts in all their entirety, are 
combined within these massive walls; and to those, 
who, from a lack of association or otherwise, 
shrink from the imaginary vulgarity of, “The 
Nude in Art” we can say that the human form di- 
vine, as portrayed by these master hands, is 
clothed with a dignity and a sanctity that disarms 
criticism. One sees but the magic hand of the 
Artist, and not his subject! 

The churches and cathedrals are among the 
chief attractions of this world-renowned city; to 
visit all of which, would require many days; hence 
the more celebrated only, are explored during the 
brief stay that is accorded to most tourists. The 
“Piazza del Duomo” with the Baptistry and Cathe- 
dral S-Marco, and the Monastery, the churches of 
S-Croce, S-Lorenzo with “la Gathedrale di S-Maria 
del flore” erected in the twelfth century, with a 
few others of equal celebrity, served to satisfy the 
curiosity of the writer, whose brief stay of two 
weeks afforded only a passing glance at these pro- 
ductions of many past generations. 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


279 


But we must not attempt to treat this inexhaust- 
ible subject within the narrow limits of a news- 
paper article; but trust to other, and more capable 
pens to draw this gigantic picture with all its 
lights and shadows upou the human intellect. One 
leaves Florence, as they do most other cities in the 
Old World, with a feeling of sadness and regret that 
memory can carry away so little of that great 
whole, which lies beyond the grasp of the human 
mind. 

And 80 on to Rome! 

“Rome the eternal city! 

What may not be said of this city of the dead?” 

Before coming to Rome, one feels that all has 
been said of it; all has been written that the most 
vivid imagination can conceive. But a brief 
sojourn here, disabuses the mind of that error, and 
we close the shutters, and draw the curtain to 
shut out the blinding rays, as the veil is cast aside 
and we emerge from the darkness and obscurity, 
in which our ignorance had clothed us. And what 
can we do that, 

“This mighty vision may not seem 
The effect of fancy— or an idle dream.” 

What scenes have not been enacted in this val- 
ley of the Tiber, where Rome stands a monument 
to her own greatness, before which kings and sov- 
ereigns must kneel with uncovered heads. 

A city founded in the year “ 753” and increased 
in importance until it became the “ capitol of the 
world.” The human mind is hardly of sufidcient 
elasticity to stretch over this vast area of time; 


280 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


yet here we stand to-day, face to face with the sub- 
lime truths which history has recorded, and with 
a reverential feeling, such as one experiences in the 
presence of death, we bow our head in adoration? 
as we meekly tread the sacred ground upon which 
our Saviour trod. Were it our intention to even 
briefly describe what our eyes hath beheld, we 
could hardly determine where to begin; but mod- 
esty forbids that we should so over-rate our abil- 
ity as to attempt, what others, far up the ladder of 
literary fame, have so poorly portrayed. Saint 
Peters and the Vatican, the Koman Forum and 
Colosseum, Temple of Neptune — Palatine Hill and 
the Palace of the Caesars, Arches of Constantine 
and of Titus — Pantheon and Trajans — Forum, the 
Fountain of Treve, and the Scala Santa, all fill us 
with wonder, not unmixed with awe, and our only 
regret is, that history is unable to reveal, in a com- 
prehensive manner, the beauty and sublimity of 
this ancient city. 

The programme for the first day spent in Rome? 
usually includes a visit to the Great Cathedral 
and the Vatican. Strolling through the winding 
labyrinths of these immense structures, one finds 
himself buried in the memories of the past. 
Neither the pen of Shakespeare or the pencil of 
a Hogarth could do justice to the scene that is 
here presented. The interior of St. Peter’s is some- 
thing indescribable — the magnificence of which 
surpasses anything that the most fertile imagina- 
tion can picture. Weeks might be spent here 
profitably, in studying the works which have 
required centuries to bring into their present state 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


281 


of perfectioD. After a hasty glance at the massive 
structure in its entirety, we ascend to the dome, 
where a fine view is obtained of the city and its 
environments. Far away to the east may be seen 
the low range of “ The Appennines’ as they lie 
stretched along the horizon, casting their dark, pur- 
ple shadows over the ever-changing landscape; 
while winding slowly along the valley below, fiow 
the muddy, sluggish waters of the Tiber. 

The Monuments, Obelisks, Fountains, Arches 
and Temples, in fact, all that go to make up this 
wonderful city, so impresses the beholder with 
their antiquity, that we are prone to ask if there is 
anything new under the sun. “ The Corso,” the 
principal street, bears some resemblance to those 
of modern times; yet as a whole, Rome is unlike 
any city to be found in the Old World. The 
“Roman Forum” reminds us of some vast ruin, 
with here and there an object of more than ordi- 
nary interest, which would escape observation 
were the visitor not favored by the interesting 
lectures given on the spot by “ Forbes,” the author 
of “ Rambles in Rome.” But should one attempt 
a minute examination of the remaining portion of 
the “old Forum,” his visit must needs be of long 
duration. Excavations are being carried on here, 
and each day some new object of interest is 
unearthed. The “ Colosseum” is also a ruin, but 
the crumbling walls still tell their tale of those 
barbarous times when the scenes here enacted for 
the amusement of aristocracy cast a dark shadow 
upon the semi-civilization of that period. Centu- 
ries ago, when multitudes gathered on this spot to 


282 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


witness the exhibitions given by “ Gladiators,” in 
deadly combat with wild and ferocious beasts, 
tearing their quivering flesh to shreds, fighting like 
demons from the lower regions, amid the applause 
of an admiring andience; all this arises in the 
mind of the visitor, and causes a thrill of horror to 
vibrate through his entire being. 

We next turned our weary footsteps in the direc- 
tion of “The Catacombs,” and, as we groped our 
way through the long narrow passages in these 
subterranean passages, we stood appalled as the 
lighted taper in our trembling hand was suddenly 
extinguished, and we found ourself alone in the 
darkness some yards in the rear of our guide. The 
walls of this strange, weird place are cut up into 
small cells, each containing the ashes of some 
defunct celebrity, or possibly common mortal, we 
did not stop to inquire, but were shocked, as our 
curiosity led us to investigate one of these small 
cemetery lots, and we thrust our hand into what 
was said to be “human ashes.” These narrow, 
winding passages extend for miles underground, 
making it verily a “city of the dead.” Of the 
churches, as many of them as we visited, “St. Paul’s 
outside the walls, in point of beauty takes foremost 
rank. To describe this magnificent structure is 
among the impossibilities, and we leave it as we 
do most other things, for our readers to look up at 
their leisure, and learn of the beauties thereof, as 
depicted by more able writers. The “Santa scala’’ 
(sacred stairs) is in the “S. Giovanna in Laterno,’’ 
in short, St. John’s church. These stairs are said 
to have been brought from Jerusalum, “where they 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


283 


formed the staircase to Pilate’s house.” None are 
allowed to ascend them save on their knees, and 
at the time of our visit some nine or ten persons 
were crawling along up these stairs, mumbling a 
prayer to some particular Saint in whose eyes, no 
doubt, they believed themselves to have found 
favor; and thus doing penance for some real or 
imaginary transgression of the Sacred Law. The 
task is not easy, as a trial would prove, to thus use 
the knee-caps in place of feet; and when added to 
the torture, small sacs of peas or beans are deftly 
placed around the knees in order to inflict greater 
pain, the agony must be almost unendurable. But 
all this in order to appease the wrath of an out- 
raged God, and obtain pardon for sin by having 
suffered in the flesh. Oh, consistency! thou art a 
jewel. This scene impressed us deeply with the 
ignorance and superstition so prevalent on every 
side. 

Upon entering the Vatican, which some one has 
said “resembles a large factory,” permission must 
be obtained to visit the entire premises before pro- 
ceeding to any particular department. We visited 
the “Sistine Chapel” first, and our attention was at 
once attracted to the scene above the altar, where 
is presented Michael Angelo’s great fresco, “The 
Last Judgment.” This picture is, to the writer, 
one of the most unwarranted libels on the prom- 
ised mercy of an Omnipotent God conceivable to 
the imagination. We would not describe it if we 
Cculd — but enough! We saw it, and while it was 
calculated to impress upon the mind the horrors 
of “The Inferno” it had a contrary effect and was 


284 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


instrumental in raising a doubt in our orthodox 
belief as to the reality of “Hades.” Such a look of 
appeal, mingled with indescribable agony, as was 
depicted upon the faces of those helpless beings, 
as, with eyes cast down at the yawning chasm of 
the bottomless pit, or upturned, imploring Divine 
mercy at the hands of their Creator; seated upon 
his Throne of Justice — was sufficient to melt the 
heart of the vilest sinner. Such entreaties must 
surely appeal to the sympathy of the Supreme 
Being. Many of the most celebrated works of the 
old masters are exhibited in the different rooms, 
showing the exquisite workmanship of “Angelo, 
Kaphael, Rubens and Correggio,” with their long 
train of successors; but the one we admired most 
was “The Transfiguration,” Raphael’s master- 
piece. 

And now, a few words about “The Appian Way,” 
and we must bid farewell to Rome. The “Ap- 
pian Way,” is the great Southern road from Rome. 
In riding out some fifteen miles along this road^ 
only a faint idea can be obtained of it, as it takes 
five days, on foot, to perform the entire distance 
from Rome to Capua. But a few miles gives one 
some idea of the magnificence of this “Queen of 
Roads.” Its width will admit of two vehicles 
passing without collision, and the material of v/hich 
it is composed, is so hard, that the constant wear 
of ages has failed to produce any apparent signs 
of decay. Along this way, on either side, are to be 
seen numerous Churches, Temples and Tombs, all 
of which present a strange and wierd appearance, 
The “House of Hadrian, Tomb of the Scipios 


FROM GENEVA TO ROME. 


285 


Chapel of the Seven Sleepers,” and many more of 
those ancient land-marks, the very name of which 
cause us to pinch our flesh to see if we are really 
alive, were pointed out by our guide. These 
Temples and Tombs contain the ashes of the old 
Romans, as history tells us that they “Buried their 
dead along the principal roads leading from the 
city.” This road is said to be the one over which 
our Savior passed, when entering Rome; and upon 
the floor of an ancient church, along the way, may 
be seen dark stains, resembling blood, which our 
guide told us flowed from “His Holy Feet” while 
engaged in Worship in this edifice. Such are the 
legends with which one is regaled by a loquacious 
guide, providing hie knowledge of any language, 
with which his audience is familiar, will permit. 

There may, or may not, be a grain of truth mixed 
with all the superstition that one encounters, but 
we are prepared, since our advent into Rome, to 
take any statement as a literal fact, believing all 
things possible. 

Tomorrow we go to Naples, hence must close 
this letter, as it is impossible to longer concentrate 
our thoughts upon any one subject, when con- 
fronted by visions of “Vesuvius, Pompeii and 
Herculaneum.” 


THE OLD MAN’S REVERIE. 


I oft recall those happy hours, 

Long buried in the past, 

That filled my heart with transient joy, 
Then fled away so fast. 

To me the years like moments seem. 
Since Jane and I were wed ; 

Alas! the happy dream is o’er— 

She’s numbered with the dead. 

I smoke my pipe in solitude. 

And then, with book in hand — 

I fall asleep— is it a dream ? 

I’m in some far-off land ! 

And voices hushed long years ago ; 

Fall on my listening ear, 

And one that’s sweeter far than all ; 

I fancy I can hear. 

With trembling lips and bated breath, 

I strive to catch each word ; 

Is it a voice from Spirit-land 
That I so plainly heard ? 

In gentle accents sweet and low. 

It whispers from afar : 

“ Thy crown is almost ready now ; 

It only lacks a star !” 


286 



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